Rescue To Release
by Bower-Of-Bliss
Summary: "As a cinematographer, I've given some thoughts to how I might die, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd die of dehydration, cut up and bleeding while perched in a tree in the middle of the Australian outback. As you can see, Sam is down below. He's an insane and perpetually randy, 7-foot tall, alpha-male kangaroo, and he belongs to that equally mental bloke, Cullen."
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer - I don't own Twilight or its characters. I do, however, own this plot. I also perform all of my own stunts._**

* * *

**_23°6'22.82"N 75° 0'31.25"W_**

_**Dean's Blue Hole, Long Island - the Bahamas**_

_**Monday April 18th 2011.**_

_"Back… bead… buck… cane… cut…"_

Listening intently to the tinny voice coming through the earpiece in five-second intervals, I mark off the words on the communication board that I believe I can clearly recognise as each of the random words are spoken from the fifty lines on the modified rhyme test table. The MRT procedure is necessary to ensure that the crew can communicate effectively with me, and each other, while they are filming. Joham and Gustavo, the underwater crew on this shoot, are currently halfway down the blue hole where the base plate of the official descent line is positioned.

_"Pane… path… peas… pill… pub…"_

Despite a flurry of activity going on around me, and the fact that I'm feeling under the weather with a head cold, I do my best to concentrate. Lauren Mallory, the previous DoP on this shoot, is in the hospital on Nassau. She underwent an emergency appendectomy Friday night; therefore, on Saturday I was informed that Aro, my boss, wanted to fly me in as her last minute replacement. Regardless of my feeble protests from my own death bed, I was given no choice in the matter. Although I got in late yesterday afternoon, I still feel like crap and swear my sinuses are going to burst out of my forehead.

Newsflash Mister Arse Vulture: Air travel, underwater filming, and head colds do not mix. _Ever__!_

Thanks to Lauren and her dodgy appendix, the crew has already missed three days of filming, so we can't run the risk of any fuck-ups during the final day of the 2011 Suunto Vertical Blue free-diving competition.

For those people involved in the sport, Vertical Blue is touted as the Wimbledon of the AIDA free-diving circuit. Spread out before me is its magnificent arena, Dean's Blue Hole. This particular blue hole is a narrow, 202-metre-deep limestone pit – the deepest in the known world. When viewed from the rock cliffs that surround it on three sides, its beautiful peacock-blue coloration is in stark contrast to the shallow, aquamarine lagoon surrounding it. For the locals, the blue hole is known for its peril; in fact, most don't come here. To free-divers, however, this place is their idea of Mecca.

_"Hot… vest… rust… jaw… day… That's it. Got it all, Bella?"_ Gustavo asks.

"Okay guys. Come on up with your boards and we'll compare lists."

I disconnect the laryngophone from around my throat and pull the receiver out of my ear. As I wait for the boys to surface, I pick up one of the four GoPro cameras and begin the process of checking to make sure they've all got brand new anti-fog inserts and empty memory cards. While working quickly, I'm vaguely aware of someone emerging from the lagoon in my peripheral vision. Their feet swish noisily through the shallow water as they approach the shore.

"Hey," a pleasant male voice that belongs to neither of my crew says in greeting.

"Hey," I respond in kind without bothering to look up. Steadfast in my task, I'm about to sync the camera to my monitor. Admittedly, I know I'm being rude, hoping the person will just take the hint and walk on by, but in my experience, I've found that syncing the cameras is a procedure that is never as straightforward as it's supposed to be.

A large shadow falls across my bare legs, blocking the warmth of the morning sun. "I'm Ry," the man announces, holding out a wet appendage and disrupting my field of vision. "And you are…?"

_Not__ interested._ I'm far too busy for chin wagging with nosey-parkers.

With a scowl, I look up to acknowledge the owner of the dripping hand so I can bat him away from the monitor, but I freeze as I'm confronted by the twin image of my own face in a pair of orange, reflective goggles. Although my pre-shoot research on free-diving has been minimal at best, something about the face above me is recognisable. It's not until the man removes his goggles that I can confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, that the hand extended out towards mine belongs to Riley Biers. Here on a wildcard entry, he is one of the most popular, up-and-coming participants in the competition.

Now that I can see his eyes, I note they are mesmerising and as deep as the water he just emerged from. Lauren described him perfectly. This guy is hot, although he's somewhat shorter than expected. By my estimation, he's not much taller than me, but still, he's gorgeous. Aware that I'm probably just gaping at him like a star-struck fool, I place my warm, dry palm against his cold, wet one and decide to introduce myself. "Hi. I'm Bella. Bella Swan."

While pointing to the camera in my other hand, Riley smiles and asks, "Are you one of the official camera people or an avid spectator? I haven't seen you around here before today."

"Director of Photography, actually," I reply with pride while shaking his hand enthusiastically. I love to brag about my job. Without anyone else's financial help, I worked bloody hard to put myself through the National Film and Television School.

"I have zero concept of what that means, but it sounds like an impressive title." His cheeky grin eases my deflating ego as he releases my hand to pull off his wetsuit hood. Damp, shoulder-length tendrils tumble haphazardly around his face, and he has to rake his fingers back through his hair to move the strands away from his eyes.

"If I said I was a videographer working for Volturi Image Professionals, who has specialised in filming extreme sports, then perhaps that would make more sense to you?"

As if a cartoonish light bulb has appeared above his head, his expression becomes one of swift comprehension and then admiration. "That's awesome. VIP makes some amazing documentaries. Really edgy stuff."

Edgy is right. Lately, I think that some of the documentaries VIP has released have gone a little too far just for the sake of controversy. Slap an NC-17 rating on a documentary and suddenly everyone wants to see what all the fuss is about.

Without an invitation, Riley picks up one of the cameras and moves it to the side before taking a seat next to me on the large, flat rock. "Hey, are you from England?"

"Yeah, originally… I live and work in Seattle now, but I grew up in a place called Westbury, in Wiltshire. What gave it away? Was it the fact that I speak like Hagrid?" I ask, exaggerating a West County accent.

"That and the sunburn you're starting to get on your arms," he says, laughing as he pulls down the zipper at the front of his black and silver wetsuit top in one quick, fluid movement. The tight garment springs apart to reveal his bare chest and abdomen.

I'll admit I'm beginning to feel rather warm, and I'm unsure as to whether it's due to the sun burning my lily-white skin or the fact that my eyes are apparently powerless to turn away from Riley's nipples.

"Bella?"

"Huh?" In a daze, I look up to meet his striking face again. I don't usually go for guys with facial hair, but the moustache-soul patch-goatee thing he has going on there looks good on him. Really good. In fact, without it, it would be easy to mistake him for being much younger than his actual age.

Riley is gazing at me in an amused expectation, as though he's waiting for me to do or say something. He must have asked me another question while I was busy ogling. Feeling like a fool, a hot wave of embarrassment heats my face and neck. "Sorry. What did you say? My mind was miles away."

He chuckles. "I just asked if you've ever been free-diving before."

For some reason, my head is nodding up and down like my most prized possession – a personally signed bobble-head figurine of David Tennant as Doctor Who. "Oh. Yeah… yeah. I have… a couple of times."

I have absolutely no idea why I just told him that. I've been scuba-diving, of course, or I wouldn't have been sent on this assignment, but I've never free-dived before. I start mentally smacking myself on the forehead for lying in an attempt to impress this man. Then again, it's unlikely I'll ever see him again once the competition is over.

"Cool." He grins at me widely. "So… will you be filming underwater today?"

I shake my head and quickly come up with a plausible explanation for keeping my head above water. "No, not today; that's Gustavo and Joham's role. I'm getting over a nasty cold- I mean a- you know… an earache from flying, so I'll be staying on the platform where I can shoot the pre-dive prep and when the divers resurface."

_Why__, oh why did I admit I have a cold? That's not sexy. Being snotty is not sexy, at all. Oh well... I suppose it could've been worse. At least I didn't mention my period is also due and that I'm worried I'll attract sharks._

Riley nods in understanding, staring at me as if I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen – _or__ maybe I have a bogey on my face?_ Without being too obvious, I run my hand over the lower half of my face, just to be sure.

"That's a shame. If I had my way, I'd be permanently in the water. Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?"

His dramatic change of topic from diving to dinner catches me off guard. "P- pardon?"

"Dinner tonight; me and you," he says, moving his hand back and forth to indicate the two of us. "Which resort are you staying at? I'm staying at Gems."

"Since my employer is a tight-arse, the crew and I are all staying in a tiny two-bedroom cottage on a private estate in Hamiltons. It's cheaper than a resort."

"Okay. So we'll have dinner in the resort restaurant, and then we'll hit the after-party. I'll pick you up at six." He announces this as if it's a foregone conclusion that I'm okay with the arrangement.

I snort in laughter at his forward behaviour and decide to tease him. "Hold your horses, pal. I didn't say yes."

"But you will," he retorts confidently.

"What makes you so sure that I'll go out with you?"

"Because I'm the best, and a girl like you deserves to be around the best." I burst into full-on laughter, and he laughs along with me. "It's true, I tell you… just ask any of these people," he boasts, waving a hand around in a dismissive manner to include anyone within visual range.

I shake my head in wonder. This guy's cockiness is really something, but he's funny and easy to talk to. "And you think the opinion of random strangers will convince me to spend time with you?"

"You're playing hardball, aren't you? Hmm." He looks at me as if I'm a mystery to be solved. "What if I were to perform an impressive display of super-human endurance – in your honour – to prove my worthiness?"

I can see where this is going and try to suppress a grin. "And what sort of super-human feat do you propose? Lifting a car over your head, or pulling a plane across a tarmac using just your teeth?"

He smiles and shakes his head ruefully. "Quick-witted and pretty; I'm totally out of my league."

Although I feel myself blush at his compliment, I manage a quick comeback. "No? Too difficult? Okay… walking on hot coals then?"

He rolls his eyes at me in response. Before I can say anything else he announces, "I'm going to attempt the U.S. Constant Weight Without Fins record today. Is that impressive enough?"

Pursing my lips in order to suppress a smile, I pretend to think it over before agreeing. "Okay, but you've gotta give me something else as well."

"Anything… except the walking on hot coals thing. I did that once, and it hurt like a bitch."

"'It hurt like a bitch'…, whines the man who seems to have a bit of metal speared through his nipple. What happened? Did you faint before getting the other one pierced?" I sigh and shake my head in mock-disappointment.

He looks down at his chest and laughs. "Oh, come on! I have the scars on my feet to prove it."

"Really?"

"No, not really..." He chuckles. "And for your info, I had to take the other ring out because it got infected."

"Oh, all right then, you big girl's blouse; I'll take pity on you. I want to film you while you explain the various breathing and breath-holding techniques required to free-dive."

He grins like a man who just won the lottery. "Sure. No problem."

Both Gustavo and Joham emerge from the water with their MRT boards in hand. It's time to stop bantering and get back to work.

"Hey Riley; can you meet me back here in say… fifteen minutes? The crew and I have some things to go through, but after that, I'd love to film you.

"I'll be counting down the seconds." Playfully, he pulls the bill of my cap down, covering my eyes, and then he leaves to walk along the shore towards a group of people standing near the refreshment tent.

I smooth my hair and readjust my cap as I continue to watch his retreating figure. As Riley walks away, he pulls off his wetsuit top, revealing a spectacularly muscled back. At the sight of it, I sigh audibly.

"Bella? Hey, Bella?" A hand is waving in front of my face. It's Gustavo trying to get my attention.

"Huh?"

"You can perv on the pretty diver boy later; we've got work to do." Behind him, Joham is snickering at me.

-oo0oo-

My heart is pounding hard, and I feel out of breath while filming Riley. Shirtless, he's sitting on a rock in the lotus position, and his waist diameter appears deformed and tiny, now that he has reduced his lung volumes from the size of footballs to something akin to the size of tennis balls. He's performing a technique called 'reverse packing' – a breathing exercise that simulates the effect of water pressure on the lungs at the depths free-divers often strive for. After what feels like an eternity, Riley finally takes in a breath of air, filling his lungs once again before speaking.

"It results in a lot of negative pressure on your throat, so it's an exercise you need to build up to. I wouldn't recommend doing it without supervision because you can damage your vocal cords, but it's an extremely powerful exercise in order to expel air and thoroughly collapse the lungs without necessarily needing to dive down eighty or ninety metres." After a pause, he raises an uncertain eyebrow at me and asks, "How was that?"

I smile and turn off my camera. "Perfect. You're a natural in front of the lens. You should teach this stuff."

"I already do. When I'm not working and traveling as a freelance forensic accountant, I'm a part-time yoga instructor." Riley goes on to explain that yoga, meditation, and breathing techniques are practiced by most of the free-divers.

At the sound of a voice amplified by a megaphone, announcing that the competition will begin in thirty minutes, we both stand.

"Looks as if things are about to get started," I say, dusting powder-white sand off my backside. "Good-luck for today."

Riley nods. "Thanks. I'll see you out there, right?"

Lifting my camera to eye level, I give it a jiggle. "You bet."

"Okay. Catch ya later, Limey."

-oo0oo-

Gustavo quietly slips back into the water, and I wait for a few minutes, allowing him to reach the forty metre mark.

"Are you in position yet, Gustavo?" I ask. "Riley Biers is about to get in the water."

_"Almost,"_ is the reply I hear through the earpiece.

"Joham?" I call to the man treading water before me.

"I'm ready," he announces.

Jason Jenks, one of the head judges, enters the water, followed by the safety divers. After Riley's safety lanyard and depth gauge have been checked, he listens to a few words of encouragement from his coach as he pulls the wetsuit hood over his head, applies his goggles, and pegs his nose clip. Riley is the last competitor in the Male Constant Weight Without Fins discipline. Since 2009, Robert King has held the U.S. CNF record of 63 metres. The New Zealander, William Trubridge, the host of Vertical Blue, holds the world record of 101 metres.

Joham dips just below the surface, and I adjust my own camera to film Riley as he stands on the edge of the floating platform.

"Two minutes!" Austin announces from his standing position next to me. As a competition official, it's Austin's role to observe the sonar and to call out the progress of the dive.

"This one's for you, Limey," Riley says in a nasal-sounding voice, grinning and pointing directly at my camera before giving a thumbs-up signal.

Austin calls out again, "One minute thirty!"

Riley steps off the platform and gets into position. With his feet and upper body resting on a pair of neon coloured pool noodles, he lays supine in the water next to the descent line. He appears to be relaxed and calm; meditative.

"Ten seconds! Nine, eight…"

With my camera trained on Riley, I watch as he takes in a large breath – his last normal inspiratory breath until he resurfaces. Once his lungs have reached usual capacity, he begins to take in sips of air – swallowing and packing, ramming the air in to expand his lungs further by almost half a gallon. According to his earlier interview, they are now close to the size of watermelons.

"Official top! Plus one, two, three, four…" Riley has a thirty second period left (known as the Official Top) in which to make the dive before the attempt is cancelled. "Eight, nine, ten…" He rolls over, and diving down, disappears under the surface. "Riley Biers - USA. Constant weight, no fins, 64 metres, a U.S. record attempt," Austin announces.

Joham is there to watch and follow Riley through the first and last quarter of the dive. Although my camera is still directed at the surface of the water, I watch the monitor that is relaying the images transmitted from Joham's camera. I only wish we could have attached a GoPro to Riley's ankle using a vented helmet strap mount. The footage Lauren took the first day during one of the practice sessions was phenomenal.

Headfirst, Riley's hands and legs gracefully propel him parallel along the length of the descent line. Once he nears the thirty metre mark, he loses buoyancy and begins to free fall to the target. I tap the screen to get a live feed from Gustavo's camera, which will capture the second and third quarter of the dive.

"Thirty metres… forty metres… fifty metres," Austin intones.

"Come on… come on," I chant under my breath as he nears the target.

"Sixty metres… touchdown."

Riley snatches the tag from the base plate, turns, and then begins the arduous task of swimming to the surface. Negatively buoyant at this point, his lungs are fully collapsed. His body must surely be craving oxygen, his brain befuddled by hypoxia, but slowly and gracefully he ascends through the water towards the light. As Riley reaches the fifty metre mark, I hear the sound of the buoyancy compensators deflating as the safety divers slip beneath the surface of the water. The ascent, particularly at the thirty metre mark is the most dangerous part of the dive. Running out of oxygen, this is when the free-divers are at risk of a shallow-water blackout.

"Thirty metres… twenty metres… ten metres," Austin says.

The heads of the safety divers breach the surface a second after Riley appears. He was under the water for two minutes and fifty-two seconds. Although he has the tag tucked in the side of his diving hood, it's not over yet. He has fifteen seconds to execute the surface protocol, or he'll be disqualified. He must remove his face equipment, give the okay sign with his fingers, and then say, 'I'm okay,' while looking at the judge. Just three simple tasks, in that precise order, and the U.S. record will be his.

His brain and body aren't cooperating. With one hand holding onto the descent line, his other arm is moving erratically, in a way that one's arm would wave about while having a convulsion. His head falls back and he loses his grip on the descent line, slipping under the water for a second. It looks as though Riley is experiencing a Samba. Samba is the name given to the loss of muscle control that occurs as a result of having exceptionally low oxygen levels in the body, when a diver is bordering between consciousness and unconsciousness.

He resurfaces and gives the okay signal. "I'm okay," Riley gasps, and then three fumbled attempts later he manages to pull off his goggles and nose clip. The mandatory thirty seconds elapse before anything is said, but we all know the outcome.

"I'm sorry. You're disqualified," Jason Jenks says while holding up a red card.

Riley, coming to his senses, shakes his head in disappointment. "Aw fuck. I did that out of order, didn't I?"

Jason smiles and nods regretfully. Riley just chuckles and then flops backwards to float on the surface. Although it seems like a technicality, in order for the dive to qualify, he must be able to prove that his mind is as tough as his body. After a minute or so of catching his breath, he looks around, and upon seeing me, he swims towards the platform and hoists himself out of the water.

"So I guess our dinner is cancelled." He sighs and takes a seat next to me.

I switch off the camera and turn to face him. "I was looking forward to a free meal. What am I going to do now?" I say teasingly. "I mean, this poor girl has got to eat!"

"I'm sorry I didn't get the record for you."

"From memory, you never promised that you would."

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Didn't I?"

I shake my head. "You just said you'd make an attempt in my honour. The second your head went under the water, the deal was sealed. You're not getting out of buying me dinner that easy, you cheapskate."

Riley chuckles and reaches out to hold my hand. "I wouldn't dream of it, Limey."

"Why do you keep calling me Limey?" I ask.

He smirks. "It's because you're English."

"Does this mean I get to call you, Yank?"

He shakes his head. "I'm an ex-pat from The Commonwealth, just like you. Although I grew up in the U.S., I was born in Toronto."

"Well, there you go; I did not know that. Canuck, then?" Riley just rolls his eyes and pinches me on the arm which makes me squirm away from him. "Hey! Don't blame me, you started the name calling thing!" I protest.

We are interrupted by the announcement that the next event will start in a few minutes.

"I'd better get out of everyone's way," he says regretfully. "Where can I pick you up?"

I give him the directions to the blue cottage, and then Riley slips back into the water and swims to the shore.

-oo0oo-

**_23°6'8.71"N 74°57'39.75"W_**

_**Dawn's BayView Motel – Long Island – the Bahamas**_

_**Saturday November 16th 2013**._

Sitting on the sand in the lotus position, I get the sense that someone is walking behind me. More than likely, it's one of the motel guests heading off for a morning walk towards the marina. I focus on blocking out the distraction by concentrating on my breathing. In the last year, I've found that Prāṇāyāma, the yogic breathing discipline that is practiced by many free-divers, helps to calm my mind and body by lowering my blood pressure, heart rate, and oxygen requirements, which in turn helps me to focus. I'll be filming underwater today, and I know I have a long day of work ahead of me.

The last two days of the Vertical Blue 2013 competition have been spent sitting around in the bar, waiting for the right conditions. On Thursday night, a violent cold front hit the island, bringing gale-force winds and bucketing rain. While the water in the blue hole was calm, a huge swell on the reef outside the lagoon churned the water into milk, making underwater visibility less than two metres. For safety reasons, the organisers and judges postponed the event. Consequently, today, which was originally scheduled to be a day of rest, is now a competition day.

"Hey, Limey," a familiar voice purrs warmly next to my ear, bringing me completely out of my meditative state. Before I can turn around to face him, playful fingers dig into my sides and start tickling me. In response, I fall sideways onto the sand and shriek in laughter.

"Thanks for ruining my serenity, you arse," I gasp between laughs. "You of all people should know better than that." Wriggling out of his grasp, I roll over to hug him in greeting, but I'm startled by the transformation he's undergone since I last saw him a week ago. The once wild, long hair that I loved is now stylish and short, and the facial hair is also missing.

"I was wondering when you'd turn up," I say, dusting the sand off my hands and sitting up to embrace my best friend. I kiss Riley on the cheek, and his smooth skin feels foreign beneath my lips. Pulling back, I look him over again. He looks so young now – ten years younger than his thirty years of age, and I have to wonder about the sudden change in appearance. "What's this about? Did you do this for work or lose a bet?" I ask, running my hand over his hair and then a thumb across his top lip.

"I thought you might like it better this way."

I feel my forehead furrow in confusion. "Why would you think that?"

"No beard burn." He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I sigh. "Ry…"

We've been through a lot together in the last two years. After our first meeting at the Vertical Blue competition in 2011, we met up again the following month on Grand Cayman during the Formula 3 Free-diving Grand Prix. As if the sport of free-diving wasn't extreme enough, they decided to take it to the next level by combining free-diving with Grand Prix style racing and Top Gun tactics. The F3F featured teams of free-divers racing underwater with diver propulsion vehicles strapped between their legs as they sped through various underwater courses, in and around reefs and shipwrecks, on just one breath of air. The footage we got from that shoot was sensational as each diver in Riley's team was fitted with their own cameras.

Following the Deja Blue 2012 competition in May, we became online acquaintances who followed each other on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. By November's Vertical Blue 2012 competition, we were best friends who regularly chatted by phone, Skype, and text.

At the beginning of the year, Riley moved from Florida to Washington to take up a permanent position at a large accountancy firm. Needing a place to stay while he searched for an apartment, he took up residence on my couch. After just one week, his cooking and domestic skills won me over. During a delicious meal, featuring the best carbonara fettuccini I've ever tasted, I announced that we ought to buy a bed for the spare room so he could stay on as my personal chef and dishwasher. I was just joking around, but he readily agreed.

The arrangement we have is perfect. We both travel a lot; he for business and sport, and me with my work. It's comforting to know there's someone at home looking after the place when I'm not there. It's even better knowing that I'm coming home to my best friend. The problem is that the living arrangement and our friendship recently became complicated by sex.

Two weeks ago, I was hit by a double-whammy – my grandma's cancer diagnosis, and the announcement that my parents are in the midst of a bitter divorce – something they neglected to tell me about for months. Feeling sad, confused, and vulnerable, I'd taken comfort in Riley's bed. While the sex had momentarily helped me to forget about my family problems, I knew it was wrong to use my best friend in that way. Plus, it opened up a can of worms. I think I'm falling in love with Riley, but I don't think he feels the same way. I'm sure he loves me, but only as a friend. He pretty much confirmed it when he casually suggested a _'friends with benefits'_ arrangement the morning after.

Feeling confused and more than a little disappointed, I told him that I needed time to think about it. I haven't given him my answer yet – it's something I'll probably need to discuss with him tonight since we're sharing a motel room with a king-sized bed. I don't think I can have that sort of relationship. Knowing how I honestly feel about Riley, I'll get too emotionally invested, and when he leaves me for some other lucky woman, my heart will shatter.

Interrupting my inner turmoil, Gustavo yells from the balcony of the motel. "Bella! We need to get a move on if we're going to make the start."

"Coming!" I shout back. Riley helps me to stand, and we dust the sand off of each other. "I have to go to work, but we'll talk tonight, okay?"

He nods in understanding. "Yeah, we will."

"Well… I've got to go," I say again.

"Hey. Mind if I come along with you guys? I wanna get in a few practice dives."

I smile. "Sure." Taking a hold of my hand, Riley walks back towards the motel with me. "You're competing today, right?" I ask, already knowing the answer, but needing to fill in the silence.

"Yeah. Gonna try to beat the U.S. CNF record."

-oo0oo-

**_23°6'22.82"N 75° 0'31.25"W_**

**_Dean's Blue Hole.  
_**  
"You about ready, Bella?" Lauren, the DoP on this shoot, shouts from the water's edge. With all the equipment loaded onto the inflatable dinghy, it's time to head out to the platform.

"Almost," I yell back. I laugh as Riley twirls me around and wraps his arms around my waist. "Hey, lemme go!"

He squeezes me tightly and picks me up so that my feet are off the ground. "Not until you pay your dues. Where's my good-luck kiss? It's tradition."

I roll my eyes and then give in. "Good luck, Canuck," I say, kissing him briefly on the forehead before he lowers me back to the ground.

"Catch ya later, Limey," he calls after me as I sprint towards the dinghy.

-oo0oo-

Taking a break from filming underwater, I watch as Gustavo and Lauren apply their face masks and give the okay signal. With cameras in hand, they tip forwards into the water. Once they hit their marks, they adjust their buoyancy compensators to the neutral position, send me a signal, and then wait for my instructions. I tap on the monitor and verify that I've got live feeds on all four cameras. We've been filming for hours, and Lauren and I have taken it in turns to film above and below the water.

Riley takes a seat next to me, waiting for his turn to dive. As I continue to fiddle with my camera, he starts to cough violently.

"You okay?" I ask, staring in consternation at the two specks of blood that have appeared on the back of his hand.

"I'm fine. It's just a little sinus barotrauma," he replies nonchalantly, wiping the blood away on the side of his thigh.

"I don't think you should dive today. Clearly, you're not 100%."

"The event physician checked me over earlier, and she says I'm good to go," he argues.

"Still…"

He rolls his eyes. "When don't I have a blood nose or sinus pain? It's all part of the game."

I know the realities of the sport, but don't like it. I've lost count of the number of times he's come back from a competition, coughing up old blood from his throat or blowing it out into a tissue. "Ry, I don't want you to dive."

"I need to do this. This is one record that has always eluded me."

"Don't let your goals cloud your judgement. You don't need to do it today. There'll be other competitions. Take more time to train."

"And in the meantime there'll be other U.S. competitors vying for the same record, and this year, two of my previous records have already been surpassed. I want the U.S. CNF record to be mine… just once."

I sigh in frustration. There's no way of talking him out of it. When it comes to his sport, he's stubborn and single-minded. "Promise you won't do anything stupid. Promise me that you'll turn back if something's not right."

Riley cups my chin and searches my face. I'm almost positive he's going to kiss me on the lips, but at the last moment, he moves my face to the side, capturing the corner of my mouth instead. "Of course I will."

-oo0oo-

"Forty metres… fifty metres… sixty metres," Lee Stephens, the official announces. "He's… stopped. He's turning back; I think."

I watch on with my heart in my throat as Riley pauses, seemingly indecisive.

"He's going back down… seventy metres… touchdown." Riley grabs the tag, turns around, and begins to ascend.

"Sixty metres… fifty metres…"

"I think he might be in trouble," someone says behind me when Riley's arm and leg movements appear to falter.

I remove my camera from the Steadicam and attach it to a tripod on the side of the platform. Something doesn't feel right, and I'm worried about Riley's safety.

"He's all right. He probably just blew an eardrum," someone else says.

"Forty metres…"

Riley's arms and legs stop moving in the water, and in horror, I realise he's had an underwater blackout.

"Blackout!"

The buzzer sounds, and the feed from Lauren's camera shows that the safety divers are already moving in. A diver places one hand over Riley's mouth and nose and the other hand on the back of his neck. A second diver grabs Riley underneath his left arm. With the assistance of a diver propulsion vehicle, all three of them are pulled towards the surface.

Every second we have to wait feels like a minute. When their heads all shoot out of the water, I'm relieved to see that Riley's eyes are wide open, however, my relief is short lived. The expression on his face relays stress and sheer panic. His body spasms and then slumps backwards into unconsciousness. Immediately, one of the safety divers places his mouth over Riley's and administers a breath. Then another. And another. And another.

"Breathe, breathe," several people say, including me, but Riley remains unresponsive.

More breaths are given as the other divers help to move Riley towards the platform. I'm scared out of my mind for my best friend, and I step back to give his rescuers room. Hands reach out to haul Riley's limp body onto the platform.

"There's a lot of blood in the mouth," the event physician calls out urgently after checking his airway. "Help me to roll him onto his side, so I can suction him."

People move in and help to roll Riley, and as soon as his head tips to the side, frothy blood-stained liquid pours from his mouth.

The second they begin CPR, my whole world crumbles.

* * *

**A/N**

**Don't fret. This really is an Edward and Bella fic. You'll just have to be patient for Edward's appearance. This is a story from Bella's POV, so there is a bit of a lead up to when they meet. In the meantime, ****if you want an idea of what Riley looks like, Google 'Xavier Samuel drift' and check out the 'images' section or else watch the movie trailer on YouTube. If you want to see what a Samba or underwater blackout looks like go to YouTube and type in 'AIDA in trouble'. Scary stuff.**  


******If you want to check out the banner for this story, the link is on my profile.**

**The coordinates that you'll see appearing whenever there is a change of location during this fic relates to Google Maps. If you put them into Google Maps or Google Earth, you'll see the view.**

**I've written this story in British English as Bella is British. I apologise/ apologize if that bothers you. **

**I have no idea how long this fic will be, and I don't have a posting schedule.  
**

**I know I still haven't updated my other story 'Isle E.S.M.E 2412'. It's still on hiatus until dystopian Bella and Edward start talking to me again. Sorry to anyone who has read it. I think I may need to rewrite some of it to enable me to continue.**

**Hope you enjoy this story anyway. Thank you for reading.  
**

**BoB xxx**

**AIDA ****– Association Internationale pour le Développement de l'Apnée** (English: International Association for Development of Apnea) – a world-wide rule and record-keeping body for competitive breath holding events.

**CNF – Constant weight: no fins** – The free-diver descends and ascends under water using only his own muscle strength, without the use of propulsion equipment and without pulling on the rope. Constant weight without fins is the most difficult sportive depth discipline because absolutely no propulsion materials are used to go down in the water. This category needs a perfect coordination between propulsive movements, equalisation, technique, and buoyancy.

**DoP – Director of Photography** – is the chief over the camera and lighting crews that work on a film, television production, or other live action pieces, and is responsible for achieving artistic and technical decisions related to the image. The study and practice of this field is referred to as cinematography.


	2. Chapter 2

**30°24'7.33"N 86°53'50.79"W**

**_Lewis Funeral Home, Navarre – Florida._**

**_Monday November 25th 2013._**

From her seat in the front row, Riley's sister stands and then walks up to the podium to speak the eulogy on her family's behalf. Though only 20 years of age, the maturity she has displayed during the process of the police investigation, autopsy, funeral and cremation arrangements has been nothing short of admirable. While her parents, James and Victoria, have fluctuated between despair, denial, confusion, anger, and numbness – Bree has picked up the pieces to give her brother a fitting final tribute. Setting her prompt cards on the podium, she adjusts the height of the microphone before speaking.

"'From birth, man carries the weight of gravity on his shoulders. He is bolted to earth. But man has only to sink beneath the surface, and he is free.' My big brother, Riley Adam Biers, was a great admirer of Jacques Cousteau, so I felt it was apropos to begin with one of his famous quotes.

"For those of us who knew Riley personally, he was a generous, kind, funny, talented, and free-spirited man who loved his life and the people in it. He loved his friends and family and was fiercely proud and protective of them. Fun-loving and outgoing, he lived each day to the fullest, and in turn, he made our lives that much richer.

"Those of you who had the opportunity to work with him professionally admired his analytical mind and ability to organise and inspire others. To have Riley on your team meant that you had your own cheering section or motivational coach. In fact, I recall that my mother once said that Ry could probably motivate a cat to bark like a dog, although when I was a teenager at high school, I would have called his style of motivation – _incessant nagging_."

At this remark, small chuckles can be heard from around the room. I remember how Riley had insisted that yoga and meditation would improve my life. He was always dragging me down to the floor and attempting to contort my body into weird – and initially painful – positions. Once I gave in, relaxed, and actually listened to what he was teaching me, I discovered he was right.

Bree continues. "He enjoyed accounting and succeeded in every career goal he set for himself, yet no one could ever accuse him of being just another boring accountant. Wherever he worked, he always brought along his sense of fun. Those of you who knew Ry through the sport of free-diving knew how much he enjoyed being in the water. In the water, he felt happy, free, and alive, and although it may sound cliché, it brings me peace to know he died doing something he loved."

Music begins to play, and The Beach Boys song '_Forever_' can be heard as the montage I helped to edit appears on the large flat-screen. Snapshots from Riley's life fade in and out – his first baby pictures, first birthday, and the first day of school. As he ages, there are photos and video clips from various graduation ceremonies, proms, sporting and academic awards, music recitals, and family gatherings.

The majority of the images from the last two years of Riley's life show his achievements in free-diving. They start from the first competition, when he came in third, and end with last month's Deja Blue meet where he obtained the U.S. record in the Free Immersion discipline. There are also a few photos and videos of Riley and me; the two of us dancing at the 2011 Vertical Blue after-party, and the selfies we took on Blue Mountain Beach last April when we travelled to Florida. That was the first time I met his family, and we had celebrated his 30th birthday with a bonfire party on the beach. There's footage from the surprise 27th birthday party he arranged for me, which resulted in both of us getting covered in cake when we started a food fight. Then there are the candid shots – photos of him doing yoga, strumming his old acoustic guitar, relaxing on the couch playing X-box, and just driving in the car.

I'm trying to be strong, but the final lyrics of the song – they make it impossible. I thought I was all cried out, but apparently I was wrong. My lower lip begins to quiver, and I feel the dam burst. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, no doubt washing away what little make-up I have on my face. I lean forward to reach for a tissue, but before my hand comes in contact with my purse, Victoria passes me a clean handkerchief. I accept it from her gratefully, and then wipe the lavender-scented cotton across my cheeks. She wraps a comforting arm around my shoulder, and together, we weep uncontrollably.

-oo0oo-

**_47°39'09.0"N 122°22'33.05"W_**

**_Volturi Image Professionals Media Studios – Queen Anne – Seattle._**

**_Monday December 2nd 2013._**

"I trust you all had a good Thanksgiving break," Aro says offhandedly to the assembled members of staff as he takes his seat at the head of the conference table.

There are some murmurs of agreement from Marcus, Demetri, Caius, and Heidi – Aro's little band of sycophants – but the rest of us remain silent, preferring to focus on the sheet of paper before us that summarises the agenda for today's lunch meeting.

Aro loves nothing more than to listen to the sound of his own voice, and he never refers to anyone (apart from his select group of minions) by their first name. As the proceedings drag on and on, I swirl my fork with disinterest around a bowl containing an unappetising pre-packaged chicken salad. The same-old issues that seem to crop up at every monthly meeting are rehashed: next year's winter games in Sochi, equipment purchases and repairs, travel expenditure blow-outs, over-runs in production, and excessive sick and personal leave. It seems that Aro's veiled barbs regarding that particular complaint are aimed in my direction since I apparently had the audacity to take two weeks off after Riley's death.

"Now for new business," Aro announces, an hour into the meeting. "I would like to address a recent issue that is deeply disturbing to me." Confused and curious, I look up from my poor excuse for food and note that he's glaring at Lauren. "Ms. Mallory; you were the DoP on the recent Vertical Blue shoot, were you not?" Mid-chew, Lauren appears to blanch, but nods slowly. "The memory cards you forwarded for editing; it wasn't the complete set, was it?"

"What do you mean?" she asks warily after swallowing her mouthful of food.

"Don't pretend to play dumb, Ms. Mallory. It's unbecoming of you. I'm talking about the missing footage showing the final dive; the dive that caused the cancellation of the competition."

A small gasp escapes my throat as I realise Aro is talking about Riley's dive and subsequent death. I can't believe he'd be so callous as to use the footage in any capacity.

"Those memory cards were given to the Bahamian authorities as part of their investigation," Lauren announces. "I don't have them anymore."

"Bullshit!" Aro yells, spittle flying out of his mouth. "Gustavo told me that copies were made and given to the police, but the originals remained in your possession."

I look at Gustavo who appears contrite. I doubt he purposely intended for Lauren to get into trouble; he's not one of Aro's butt-kissing cronies. Aro probably asked him what happened to the memory cards, and Gustavo, not thinking twice about it, told him what he knew.

"Why do you want them?" Lauren asks calmly in the face of Aro's anger.

"Not that it's any of your business, Ms. Mallory, but last time I checked, VIP is _my_ company – not yours! I want the memory cards because they are mine to do whatever I wish. If you check your contract, you'll recall that all images captured on VIP's equipment during VIP shoots belongs to _VIP_. What belongs to me has been stolen, and I want it back!"

I feel anger boiling up inside my chest. Arse Vulture is being an utter prick. No one needs to see Riley dying. Death is not entertainment. I can only imagine the devastation Riley's friends and family will endure if that footage is put out there in the public domain.

"Leave her alone!" I snap, coming to Lauren's defence. If she did purposely withhold the memory cards, I'll be the first in line to commend her for having the foresight and the balls to do it, considering the way Aro is going on and on about them.

"Miss Swan. How nice of you to join the meeting. I'd hazard a guess that this is partly your fault," he says in a somewhat lilting and condescending tone. Aro, although appearing calm, smiles menacingly and then tents his fingers. More than ever he resembles the stinking predator we _non-butt-kissers_ jokingly describe him to be behind his back.

I blink once in disbelief before responding. I have an idea where his accusation is leading, and he'd better not go there. "I beg your pardon?" I say sternly.

"Don't be stupid, Miss Swan. I'm sure Ms. Mallory stole the footage on your behalf due to your relationship with Riley Biers."

"I wasn't asking for clarification; I was actually giving you an opportunity to apologise for accusing me of something I had no part of." I'm convinced that the courage I'm displaying as I justify myself to my boss is solely due to the righteous indignation that is flowing through my veins.

"Right," he says with a snort. "Like you and Riley Biers weren't fucking…"

My jaw drops in astonishment. _I can't believe he just said that – in front of everyone_. I manage to suppress the angry tears that are threatening to escape by channelling the emotional energy into my words.

In a clear and steady voice that belies my inner breakdown, I respond with venom. "Not that it's any business of yours, Mister Volturi, but last time I checked, whom I do and don't _fuck_ on my own time is of no consequence to VIP, and it is of no consequence in this matter!"

Leaning back in his high-backed leather chair, Aro smirks in satisfaction and casually crosses one leg over the other. "Ms. Mallory, you have one hour to deliver the missing memory cards with the footage intact, or you'll be fired for breach of contract."

"What?!" I exclaim, along with several other people around the table.

"Don't hold your breath waiting, Mister Volturi," Lauren announces while skilfully twirling her pen around her thumb. Then she pauses. "Actually, on second thoughts, please do," she implores, placing the pen down with a smug smile, "because you'll never get that footage."

Aro's calm composure dissolves. Clenching his jaw, his face reddens, and a bulging vein appears in the middle of his forehead. "If that is the case, you have fifteen minutes to clean out your desk." Pushing a button on the intercom system, he says, "Felix. Get in here!"

"You prick," I mutter. To my left, I feel Joham kick my ankle under the table, and I turn to look at him. He's begging me with his eyes to shut up.

"What was that, Miss Swan?" Aro asks, cocking his head to the side.

"You heard me; I called you a prick, you heartless bastard! There's no reason for anyone, apart from the appropriate authorities, to watch that morbid piece of footage, so I don't see why you feel justified in firing Lauren over it. Be a human for once and have some bloody consideration. Riley had a lot of friends and family. How do you think they'd feel if Riley's death was put out there for public viewing? It's just another example of this company producing something controversial for the sake of publicity."

"FELIX!" Aro roars into the intercom again.

The door opens, and Aro's brother-in-law ducks his head slightly to get through the doorway. At six-feet and nine-inches tall, Felix the security guard, dwarfs everyone in the room.

"You called?" Felix asks.

"Please escort both Ms. Mallory and Miss Swan back to their offices. Watch them closely as they clean out their desks and make sure they don't steal anything that doesn't belong to them; not even a pen, or piece of paper with the company logo."

"What the Hell?" I protest.

"What's the problem, Miss Swan? You don't seem to appreciate the artistic direction of this company, so I assumed you'd like to leave, but if that's not the case, and I was mistaken, I'm cancelling your contract anyway."

I stand and pick up my barely-eaten chicken salad. Briefly, I consider the logistics; calculating whether I can move fast enough to tip the container over Aro's head, but a hand gently grips onto the underside of my upper arm. Almost lifting me off the ground, Felix starts to guide me towards the door, abruptly halting my fantasies of seeing wilted strands of lettuce hanging comically from Aro's beaked nose.

"Let go of me, Lurch!" I snarl, struggling out of Felix's grasp. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet." Straightening my shirt, I pivot on my heel and head for the door with Felix and Lauren in tow.

"A word from the wise, Miss Swan…" Aro says just as I pass through the doorway. I turn, confronting him as he continues. "If you ever hope to make it in this line of work, my recommendation is that you don't get personally involved with your subjects. Sentimentality and emotions just get in the way, and they are best left to the likes of Pixar and Disney."

Not bothering to dignify his unsolicited advice with a retort about how massively successful both of those companies are, I turn and walk away.

Behind me, Aro continues to address the meeting. "Now, before we go on... if anyone else is feeling dissatisfied with the way we do things around here, feel free to leave; the door is that way."

-oo0oo-

Lauren and I are standing outside the studio on the footpath, and I watch as she blows Felix a kiss. In response, he waves at us through the glass doors with a look of regret on his face. On Aro's orders, we weren't even permitted to remain inside the building long enough to wait out the rain. Struggling to carry the heavy cardboard box containing my personal belongings, I adjust my grip and balance it against my hip, allowing me to hold my umbrella over both of our heads.

Lauren, who is carrying her own box of belongings against her body, tips her wrist to look at her watch. "Tyler said he can't get off work until two to pick me up. You wanna keep me company and then get a ride home with us instead of getting a cab?"

I shrug. "All right. Where shall we wait in the meantime?"

"La Palma's is open," she suggests, indicating to our left with a sideways nod at the Mexican restaurant across the street. As we start walking towards the restaurant, Lauren asks, "Can I buy you a drink and some Super Nachos? That catered lunch back at VIP was disgusting."

"Sure. It's the least you can do since you just lost me my job," I joke offhandedly.

She stops at the kerb and turns to look at me in incredulity. "Please, say to me that you would have done the same thing if you had been the DoP that day. You can't honestly tell me that you'd let Aro have the final footage of Riley?"

Realising she took my joke the wrong way; I'm quick to reassure her. "Hey, I'm just kidding. I'm not upset about losing my job. Of course I would've done the same as you. You did the right thing. Aro's a sick fucker. The way things are heading at VIP, the next thing you know, they'll start making snuff films."

"You had me worried for a sec." She sighs in relief, and we begin to cross the road.

"Do you really have the memory cards?" I ask as we walk up the steps towards the restaurant door, but she doesn't answer. Lauren pulls on the door, and as we enter, the rush of warm air that I feel on my face is welcomed.

A waitress greets us and leads us to a table in the corner by the window where we can watch out for Lauren's husband. After giving our orders, Lauren begins to rummage around in her bag. She pulls out her Samsung tablet and presses some buttons.

"I wanted to show you this earlier," she says, passing me the device. A video is cued up to play, and Riley's face is frozen on the screen. His hair is short and his face clean-shaven.

"Lauren?" Feeling apprehensive, I have to ask, "Is this…"

"No. That's gone; deleted forever. I didn't even watch that part when I made copies for the police."

Trusting that she's telling the truth, I tap the screen.

It's a short, three-minute video that Lauren had taken of Riley before he walked out to meet me on the sand – the morning of that fateful day when he had died from what the coroner had ruled was as a result of _ immersion pulmonary oedema_. While watching the footage, I learn that he loved me, and he was planning on asking me to be his girlfriend. I'm devastated all over again because I wish I had the opportunity to go back in time and tell him that I loved him too.

-oo0oo-

**_47°39'18.33"N 122°23'20.25"W_**

**_My condo – Magnolia - Seattle._**

**_Monday December16th 2013._**

I pull into the garage of my condo after attending yet another pointless interview. Aro seems to have friends all over the place, and I've come to learn that his references have been less than glowing. I park the car and walk back down the driveway to bring the empty garbage and recycling bins in from the roadside, and then I collect the mail that has been shoved haphazardly into my letter box.

Once inside, I sort the catalogues from the letters, placing the envelopes addressed to Riley on the small pile next to the fishbowl. His family will pick them up on Saturday when they come to take away his belongings. I take a moment to feed Panda and Fanta, the goldfish that Riley and I purchased on a whim shortly after he moved in, and then take the remaining letters into the kitchen with me.

As I wait for the kettle to boil, I open the mail. The first letter is from the bank, telling me when my credit card payment is due. The second letter is a bill from the electricity company. The address on the next envelope is hand-written, and there's no postage stamp. On opening the envelope, I discover it's a letter from the landlord. It says that as of the first of next month, the yearly lease on the condo is up for renewal, and should I continue to stay on, the rent will increase. I sigh in frustration. Without a job, I can barely afford my bills and rent now, never mind the next month when the price goes up.

Turning over the last envelope, I see that it's from the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service. In confusion, I start to open it, but before I can read the letter, the kettle starts to whistle. I make myself a cup of tea and then head to the couch with the letter in my hand.

I finish reading the letter, sit with my head in my hands, and cry. Arse Vulture, that rat bastard, must have contacted Immigration and informed them that I'm no longer employed at VIP. My working visa is dependent on an employer verifying me. Without employment in my particular field, I'll have to leave the country.

-oo0oo-

**_Saturday December 21st 2013._**

The sound of the doorbell jars me from my nap on the couch. I look at the clock, and it tells me it's 1.00pm. Shuffling past the front window on my way towards the staircase, I can see a cab reversing out of the driveway. On opening the front door, Victoria and Bree are standing there huddled together under my tiny porch to stay out of the rain.

"I never quite understood why Ry wanted to move here from Florida," Victoria says with a small grimace. "The weather is always awful compared to home."

"I think we both know the real reason why he moved, and she's standing right here," Bree says, stepping past her mother in order to give me a hug. "Hey, how are you, Bella?"

"So-so," I reply, squeezing Bree tightly. "And you?"

"Yeah, so-so. Good days and bad days."

"Where's James?" I ask, looking over Bree's shoulder and beyond Victoria.

"We dropped him off on 15th Avenue. He's hiring a cargo van from U-haul," Bree explains.

Victoria takes Bree's place as soon as she releases me. "Hi, Victoria, it's good to see you." Pulling out of the hug after a minute, I usher them further into the entrance and close the front door. "Come on upstairs. Sorry about the chaos. I've got boxes of stuff all over the place."

I lead them up the staircase towards the living room, and then head to the kitchen to put the kettle on. They'd probably appreciate a cup of coffee to warm up before they begin boxing Riley's possessions – a task I haven't been able to attend to. Every time I opened his wardrobe, to begin packing his life away into cardboard containers, his scent washed over me, followed by the memories, and then I had to leave the room and cry.

"So how was your flight?" I ask conversationally from the kitchen.

-oo0oo-

"Bellaaaaaaa," I hear Bree call out from Riley's room.

Reluctantly, I stand from the couch and head towards her voice. "Yeah?"

"Look at these," Victoria says, pointing to a small pile of colourfully wrapped parcels on the corner of the bed as soon as I appear in the doorway of what used to be Riley's room. His wardrobe is bare, and the artwork and photos have been removed from the walls leaving behind a series of barren hooks. The bedding has been stripped, and several taped up boxes line the walls. I find it easier to enter the room now that it's unrecognisable. Without Riley's things, it's devoid of his lingering presence.

"We found them under the bed," Bree explains from her kneeling position on the floor.

"Are they Christmas presents?" I ask.

Bree smiles. "Yeah. Typical Riley; he was always so organised."

"There are presents here for all of us, and we've decided we should open them now," James says, patting a space between him and Victoria on the bed, "you know, since we won't get to see you Christmas Day..."

Before Riley's death, we had plans to travel to Florida for Christmas, but now I'm going to spend Christmas with my dad and Gran. While speaking with Dad last Monday evening, we decided the best option for me is to return to England. Without a job, I can't afford rent or legally stay in the country, plus Gran is starting chemo after Christmas. Dad also needs my support because Mum's being a horrid bitch during the divorce settlement. Although my last minute ticket is costing Dad an arm and a leg, I'm flying out on Monday and should arrive in London on Christmas Eve. With Lauren's help, most of my belongings will be freighted back to the UK sometime in the New Year.

I take a seat on the bed between Riley's parents. Playing Santa, James picks up each gift and reads out the names. Starting off with my name, he passes me a small, rectangular shaped box that is held together with a red ribbon.

After pulling off the ribbon, I open the lid of the box. Inside, there is a silver and blue pendant, and when I pick it up, I recognise the symbols depicting a fictional language. It's Gallifreyan – a series of elegant circles and lines within a circle that are reminiscent of the mechanical movement inside of a pocket watch. At a first glance, I don't know what it means, but when I turn the pendant over, I chuckle.

"Don't forget to feed the fish," I whisper, the words barely able to pass through the emotional stricture I feel building up inside my throat.

"I don't get it," Victoria says, taking the pendant from me to have a closer look. After a moment, she passes the pendant to James, who then passes it to Bree.

"I think it's something from Doctor Who. You know, that British TV series they were both addicted to," James explains.

"Bella? What's wrong? Don't you like it?" Bree asks, looking at me with concern.

I shake my head and hold up my hand to beg for a moment so I can gather my emotions. Riley shared my love for Doctor Who after I'd convinced him to watch my DVDs. Thanks to a downloadable computer program, he used to make me laugh by leaving printed messages on the refrigerator such as, '_Sorry, we're out of milk' _and '_'Don't forget to feed the fish,' _in Gallifreyan with the translations written on the back. I loved those silly messages. God how I wish he was here so I could say 'thank you'. It's the best gift anyone has ever given to me.

"I love it; in fact, I'll never take it off," I finally say, now that I'm able to find the strength in my voice. "It's just that things like this make me miss him all the more."

Bree nods in understanding as she hands the pendant back to me, and then Victoria gives me a hug.

-oo0oo-

**_51°15'59.15"N 2°11'56.81"W_**

**_Westbury Railway Station – Westbury – Wiltshire._**

**_Tuesday December 24th 2013._**

Stepping from the train, I immediately see the smiling face of my dad. He takes long strides towards me, and I lower my bags to the platform so I can reciprocate his bear hug.

"It's so good to have you home," he says with a sigh, squeezing me so tightly that the breath is forced from my lungs.

"Hi, Dad," I reply and then kiss his whiskery cheek. Normally, he only has a moustache, but with time off to help take care of Gran, it seems he doesn't shave as often. These days, there appears to be a lot more salt than pepper in his beard.

"How was your trip?" he asks, pulling out of our hug. He reaches down to pick up both of my suitcases, and bats my hand away when I attempt to grab the handle of the smaller case.

"Long."

"Sorry I couldn't get you from the airport. Even with a live-in carer around, I don't like to be away from your grandma for too long."

"It's okay. How is she?"

"She's in denial. She thinks the chemo and radiation therapy are going to cure her."

"Won't it?" I ask in alarm.

Dad sighs. "No. It's stage four lung cancer. The treatment is for palliative purposes – to help ease her breathlessness. Some days she really struggles."

"I didn't know it was that bad. If I'd known…"

"She didn't want to worry you. She's so proud of you, working in films and traveling all over the place."

"Yeah, well look at me now – back at home with my tail tucked between my legs."

"I'm sure you'll find something in no time," he says, walking towards his silver sedan parked on the opposite side of the street from the station.

"Dad!"

"What?"

"I can't believe you drove here. It's a less than ten-minute walk to Gran's."

"It was raining earlier," he says defensively as he opens the boot of the car and puts my cases inside.

Shaking my head, I open the passenger-side door and get in.

-oo0oo-

**_51°15'50.8"N 2°11'33.99"W_**

**_Gran's House - Westbury._**

"Bella, this is Sue. She helps me look after your grandma. Sue this is my daughter," Dad says, introducing me to the carer.

"It's nice to meet you, Bella. Marie shows me your photos quite often." Sue is in her late forties and has an aura of calmness about her. She's also very attractive for a woman of her age, and though I can't see a wedding ring, I wonder if she's married. I also wonder if Mum knows. "Let me put the kettle on. Are you hungry?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I'm okay. I think I'd like to see Gran and then take a nap. I didn't get much sleep on the plane."

"She's asleep at the moment," Sue says. "Why don't you take a nap, and when she wakes up for dinner, one of us will come and get you?"

"Okay," I reply and then stifle a yawn with my hand.

Dad directs me to the back of the house to what was once a conservatory. It was remodelled during the 80's to make a fourth bedroom. As we pass through the kitchen, I notice the new pale, wooden laminate flooring, and the modern cabinetry and Velstone counter tops. They appear out of place compared to the rest of the house which is a mishmash of eras past. Most of the house is decorated in pink and peach tones with patterned carpets, and furniture and knickknacks harking back to the 60s and 70s.

One by one, Dad lifts my suitcases and places them on top of the bed. "Is there anything you need?"

"A glass of water would be good," I suggest, and he leaves the room to fetch it.

I pull off my jacket and boots and open my suitcase to find a pair of yoga pants to change into. Dad places a glass of water on the bedside table with a promise to wake me for dinner, and then he closes the door behind him when he leaves. As I search through the largest of my two suitcases, my hand brushes against my David Tennant bobble-head figurine. I take him out, check him for any signs of damage, and place him on the bedside table before unpacking the rest of my clothes.

Once the suitcases have been stowed away in the wardrobe, I close the curtains and slip beneath the cream-coloured waffle blanket. I reach my hand forward and press the little button to illuminate David's light-up sonic screwdriver, and then rest my head on the pillow. Before the toy's light even manages to turn itself off, after twenty seconds, I fall asleep.

-oo0oo-

**_51°12'24.70"N 2°10'54.51"W_**

**_The Warminster Community Hospital – Warminster – Wiltshire._**

**_Thursday February 13th 2014._**

"Okay, Marie. I've got your blood results back, and the neutrophils – your white blood cells – have come up. Your kidney and liver function look good too," Doctor Snow, the Clinical Oncologist says. "Have you had any issues with numbness, tingling, or hearing problems since the previous cycle?" Gran shakes her head and taps on her chest. "Just the breathlessness…" he says interpreting her action, and Gran nods.

Some days – like the last two days – Gran finds it tiring to speak.

"Well, if you feel up to it, we can start the next cycle of Carbo/Taxol today if you want to continue the treatment."

Gran nods again and taps on the screen of my iPad. Using the text-to-speech app, she types in the words and hits the play icon. Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second's voice says loud and clear, _"Yes! I'm ready. Thank you, Doctor. You and your staff are so good to me."_

Doctor Snow snickers and pats Gran gently on the back of the hand. "Oh, it's our pleasure, Your Highness. I'll have the pharmacist prepare your order. In the meantime, I'll send the nurse over to give you your pre-chemo medications." With a grin, he walks to the desk in the middle of the room and speaks with a young man in a nurse's uniform before handing over Gran's file.

A few minutes later, the man and another nurse approach with a portable trolley with lots of drawers. After checking off the various medications with the chart, and making sure they have the correct patient, they introduce themselves.

"Hello, Missus Higginbotham. My name is Liam, and I'll be looking after you," the male nurse says with an Irish lilt. "Katie normally takes care of you during your cycles, but she's away today."

Gran taps a message on the iPad and hits play. _"Nice to meet you, Liam. Please call me Marie, and this sweet girl next to me is my grand-daughter, Bella."_

"All right then, Marie it is." Liam grins. "And hello to you, Bella." Turning his head to speak with his colleague, he says, "Oh my. I heard a rumour from Doctor Snow that we might be in the presence of royalty. Looks like we're the lucky ones today."

The other nurse chuckles. "Hello, Marie. Not sure if you remember, but we met back in January during your first cycle. Today, I'll be helping Liam to care for you, too." From her voice, she sounds like a local girl.

Gran smiles, taps out another message, and presses play. _"I remember you. You have such lovely red hair."_

This is the first time I've accompanied Gran to the oncology day centre. The previous two cycles, Dad was with her, but now he's back at work, so I've stepped in to help. The hours that we'll spend here today will allow Sue to have a bit of a break. She said she was going to treat herself to a haircut and colour.

"Okay, let's have a look at your PICC line," Maggie says.

Gran rolls up her sleeve, and Maggie examines the intravenous device before inserting a syringe of saline to check it's still in working order.

"Just like the previous cycles, we're going to give you some pre-medications that will help to ease some of the side-effects of the chemotherapy," Liam explains while placing a blood pressure cuff on the opposite arm from the PICC line.

For the moment, Gran is left speechless as she is unable to use the iPad. From the look in her eye, I can tell she's just itching to say something – anything – to make up for the time lost when she's been without a voice. I came up with the idea of using the iPad yesterday, much to Gran's delight. Yesterday afternoon, we were watching the Winter Olympics on BBC Two, and she had me, Dad, and Sue in stitches as she commentated the conclusion of the pairs event in figure-skating – using _Deepa_ – the female Indian-English voice. Sue was laughing so hard, she was crying.

Once the medication is up and running through the pump, Liam and Maggie leave with a promise to return soon.

Gran turns on the iPad and taps out a message. _"Liam looks like a nice young man. You should ask him out," _Her Majesty, QE2, announces at the top of her fake sounding voice.

Mortified, I grab the iPad and turn down the volume a bit. "Geez, Gran!" I hiss under my breath. "Just tell the whole room, why don't you?" I glance around the day centre, hoping like hell that Liam didn't hear Gran pimping him out.

Snatching the iPad back from me, she types away furiously. Before she can hit play, I take the device out of her hand and read the message. _I'm just saying he looks like boyfriend material. He's handsome. Got a lovely accent. Steady, respectable job and no wedding ring._

I shake my head at her, and she gives me the _'why not?'_ look.

"I don't think I'm his type. I'm pretty sure he bats for the other team," I say quietly, passing the iPad back to her.

Gran types a new message. Before I can stop her, the words ring out. _"What does playing cricket have to do with asking Liam on a date?" _Sneaky old biddy. She must have turned up the bloody volume again.

"Could you play that any louder? I don't think they heard it in _Switzerland!_ Are you sure the chemo hasn't affected your hearing?"

In response, Gran just shrugs before typing again. She passes me the iPad, thankfully without pressing play. _You didn't answer my question!_

"He's gay," I reply in a whisper.

She shows me another message. _Why do you think that? He might not be. Not all male nurses are gay, you know. That's a stereotype._

Before I get a chance to tell Gran about the 'Love Is Love' rainbow-coloured tattoo that I noticed on his inner arm, the subject of our conversation approaches and begins to check on the IV lines.

_"So how's your love life? Got any plans for Valentine's Day?" _booms the voice of Her Majesty.

"Gran!" I hiss. "That's none of your business."

Unperturbed, Liam says in a hushed voice, "Pardon my attitude, Your Maj, but as far as I'm concerned, Valentine's Day this year can feck off."

I snicker at his answer.

Gran, ever the intermeddler, asks,_"Why?"_

"I just got out of a bad relationship."

_"I'm sorry to hear that."_

"Turns out that Eric, this eejit I dated for two months, was only with me because he wanted to get a job with my cousin's company. When he didn't get the job, he dumped me like yesterday's paper."

I turn, facing Gran and mouth, _"I told you so," _in triumph. In response, Gran glares at me.

Liam continues. "It's not like it was my fault that Em told him to bog off for bein' a waster. Eric was the one who ballsed-up the project and broke the camera."

At the word 'camera' my interest is piqued. "What sort of business does your cousin run?"

"He's the Managing Director of EMC Squared Films."

"EMC Squared? I can't say that I've heard of them. What sort of films do they produce?"

"All kinds of things, but mainly natural history documentaries. They're an independent production company, and they've worked on projects for BBC1 and 2, Channel 4 and 5, National Geographic, and the Discovery Channel."

"What does EMC stand for?"

"Emmett and Eleazar McCarty. Em runs the company, but its offices are housed within EMC Tower, which is his father's building, so he called it EMC Squared."

"Emmett McCarty!" I exclaim excitedly. "Are you serious? I know him! I went to film school with Emmett."

"Well isn't it a small world," Liam says melodically.

"Wow. Emmett has done quite well for himself for someone of his age."

"Are you in the film industry, too then?"

This is the part that always depresses me; where I have to admit to being unemployed. I sigh before giving the condensed version of my sorry saga. "I was up until a few weeks ago. I worked in America for a couple of years, but I returned to England when my contract finished." Technically, it's not a lie. Arse Vulture ended my contract, and I came home.

Liam nods. "I'll have to ask Emmett if he remembers you the next time I speak with him."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother. He's probably forgotten all about me…"

-oo0oo-

Turning off my iPad, I yawn and stretch my arms in an attempt to restore some circulation. There's a feeling of muscle tightness across my upper back and neck from sitting and reading for too long. With both chemo medications infused, we're just waiting out the post-treatment observation period to make sure there are no serious side-effects before we can go home. Gran seems to be relaxed as she lies on the recliner chair while watching the luge team relay competition on the telly.

"My arse is numb. I'm going to stretch my legs for a bit and get some fresh air," I say to Gran. "Do you need anything before I go?"

Gran shakes her head and waves me off.

"I won't be too long." I leave my iPad with Gran in case she needs to communicate with the nursing staff while I'm gone. Grabbing my coat, I put it on and walk to the nurses' desk to speak with Maggie to let her know that I'll be gone for about fifteen minutes.

As soon as I step outside, I see Liam standing on the footpath, near the road. On a break, he appears to be smoking and talking on the phone. I lean against the cold, red brick façade of the building's entrance and breathe in deeply – fully appreciating the smell of the outdoors. The constant sickly scent of floor polish, disinfectant, and alcohol-based hand-gel, was beginning to overwhelm me.

Liam ends his call and places his phone and cigarette pack in the inner pockets of his coat, and then he walks towards me.

"Those things will kill you slowly, just ask my gran," I say.

Liam smirks. "I'm trying to be a good boy, and I'm in the process of quitting. What you saw was an E-cigarette, and I'm down to twice a day." He takes a seat on the step of the entryway and beckons me to sit with him. "Hey, guess who I was just on the phone with?"

"Who?"

"Emmett. He called, and I mentioned you were here with your gran. Apparently, he remembers you very well."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He asked what you were up to, and I told him how you'd been working in America up until recently. He said he'd like to catch up with you and told me to pass along his number." Liam takes his phone out of his pocket.

"I'd love that. It'd be nice to see him again after so many years. It'll be fun to swap stories." I reach into my own coat pockets for my phone, but discover it's not with me. "I must have left my phone inside. Can you text Emmett my number, and then he can call me later – if he wants..."

I recite my number to Liam, who texts it along with a short explanation. Within twenty seconds, Liam's phone chimes, and he reads the message out loud. "Ask B if she'll meet me for lunch in Chelsea on Saturday. I'll make it worth the trip. My shout." Liam looks at me with a raised eyebrow for a response.

"Tell him, 'yes.'" I'm pleasantly surprised that Emmett is offering to pay for a meal. I was just expecting a quick catch up in a local café over hot chocolate, the way we used to during film school when a group of us went out together. "Ask him where and what time?"

Liam sends another text, but Emmett's response doesn't come until Liam and I re-enter the hospital a few minutes later.

**_386 Kings Road, Chelsea._** **_12pm Saturday. Meet me inside. Looking forward to seeing you again B._**

* * *

**_A/N  
_**

**_Thank you to all who took the time to read and review the last chapter. _**

**_A special thank you to my sister who patiently answered all my questions about what goes on in an oncology day centre. I hope I got it right. xoxo_**

**_Thank you also to Tarbecca who mentioned this story on 'A Different Forest' and to 'FicCentral' for announcing the updates on Twitter.  
_**

**_The Gallifreyan translator is available for free from the shermansplanet website._**

**_Edward. He's coming... very soon. Promise. ;)_**

**_BoB_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_51°15'50.8"N 2°11'33.99"W_**

**_Gran's House – Westbury – Wiltshire._**

**_Saturday February 15_****_th_****_ 2014._**

The music of Pharrell Williams blares from the clock radio, thankfully managing to extract me from the dream just in the nick of time. Feeling sticky from the sheen of sweat on my body, and the tears sliding along my temples, I throw off the blankets and sheets and then hit the off button on the radio; silencing the room. While sitting on the edge of the bed, I close my eyes and exhale a large breath in an attempt to clear my head from the recurring dream that has plagued me since Riley's death. The dream is always the same.

_It's summer in Florida, and the two of us are happy and laughing, mucking about without a care on the beach. Riley twirls me around until we both feel dizzy, and then we fall onto the sand. Once the dizziness settles, I sit up and stare out towards the ocean, watching as the people swim and play in the waves. Riley asks me a question, and I turn away from the water to look at him. When I turn my gaze back, the tide leaves – going far beyond what it normally should. The water then rears up and rushes towards us in the form of a massive tidal wave. Terrified screams cry out all around us. Bracing for the impact, I say, "I can't let you go. I love you," and then I hold tightly onto Riley's body. The instant the wave hits, we are torn apart, and I lose sight of him as my body is churned around and around in circles like a ragdoll in a washing machine. Once the turbulence of the water slows down, my head finally breaks the surface, and I scream. Bodies and debris float all around me. The rest of the dream has me searching for Riley among the dead, but I never find him. _

As the months have passed, the dream seems to be occurring less frequently, but when it happens, it always leaves me with a sense of doom for the rest of the day.

I pull off my sweat-drenched pyjama top and toss it into the hamper. Shivering from the cold, I pick up yesterday's T-shirt from the floor and quickly pull it over my head. I wrap myself in the fluffy, white dressing gown dad gave me for Christmas, and with a big yawn, I decide that a cup of tea is needed in order to start off the day before getting ready to go out.

On opening the door and stepping into the kitchen, I see Dad leaning against the bench top, eating breakfast. Rather than asking him to move across, I slide my arm around him and flip the switch on the base of the kettle.

"It's not long boiled," Dad says around a mouthful of toast as the kettle immediately turns itself off again.

"Oh. Right."

"Can you make me one while you're at it?"

"Sure. Tea or coffee," I ask as he moves out of my way.

"Coffee, please. Toast?" Holding out his plate, he offers me a choice of honey or Marmite. I take the slice of toast that's spread with lashings of butter and a thin scrape of Marmite and then turn around to get the cups from the cabinet. "You're up early for a Saturday," he remarks.

"Yeah, I'm meeting a friend of mine for lunch in Chelsea, remember?" I take a bite of toast. It's a little cold and burnt on the underside, but it'll do.

"Ah, that's right. What's his name again?"

"Emmett McCarty," I reply after swallowing.

"And he's someone you went to film school with…" Dad stops speaking and yawns.

"Yeah, that's the one. You're up early, too. Do you have to work?" I set the cups on the counter top.

It's not often that Dad works on the weekend, but it's not entirely unheard of. Being the Governor of Her Majesty's Prison Erlestoke, he often works long hours with no additional payment. It was those many hours from home that probably made it so easy for Mum to carry on an affair for two years with her tennis coach.

"Sue and I have been up half the night with your grandma. The nausea is pretty bad this time around. We almost called an ambulance, but the medication finally kicked in. She's sleeping now. So is Sue."

I fetch the instant coffee, tea leaves, and sugar from the shelf. "Maybe I should stay home…" I start to say.

Dad shakes his head. "No. You go and meet your friend. You've been home for nearly two months and haven't gone out with anyone. You never know, your friend might know someone who's hiring."

I grimace at the hopeful sound in his voice. This is the reason why I didn't tell Dad that Emmett runs his own production company. There may be jobs out there, but eleven failed interviews since getting the boot from VIP has taught me that no matter what, there's someone more qualified who has years and years of experience.

"Dad… I don't think that's why Emmett asked to meet with me. We're just a couple of old acquaintances catching up over a meal."

He shrugs. "If you say so, but if he knows of a job, you go for it; you hear? No matter where it's based."

"But what about Gran?" I protest as I pour the kettle to make Dad his cup of black coffee. "Now that you're back at work, you need my help."

"Don't worry about your grandma. She'll be the first one of us to smack your arse if you turn down a job offer. Between Sue and me, we can cope just fine. I've still got plenty of leave accrued if I need to take time off. You just look after yourself, missy."

I nod in resignation as I measure the tea leaves and tip them into the teapot.

Dad looks up at the clock. "What time is your train?"

"I'll leave here at a-quarter-to-nine," I reply after swallowing another mouthful of toast. "If there are no delays, I should get into Chelsea just before twelve."

"You can always take the car," he offers.

"No. It's all right. I don't mind taking the trains and the bus. Besides, I hate driving in London, especially if I don't know the area too well."

"Here… I'll make this," Dad says, reaching for the teapot and kettle. "Go get ready. By the time you get out of the shower, it'll be brewed nice and strong – the way you like it."

"Thanks, Dad." I kiss him on the cheek and head back to my room so I can find something to wear before getting into the shower.

-oo0oo-

**_51°29'02.42"N 0°10'36.76"W _**

**_Kings Road Steakhouse & Grill – Chelsea – (West) London._**

Staring at the piece of paper in my hand, I'm mentally attempting to make the number on the address change its last digit. It would mean that I'll be meeting Emmett in Starbucks instead of the restaurant in front of me. The restaurant seems to be owned by one of London's most notorious celebrity chefs. You know the one; he's the guy who made Gordon Ramsay cry.

I look down at my clothes and frown. Maybe I should have worn a dress instead of jeans, a cable-knit jumper, and knee-high boots. Not that my wardrobe has much to offer in the way of decent dresses these days. I'm still waiting for the last of my boxes to arrive from Seattle – the ones with all of my nicest outfits, naturally.

"Guess who?" a familiar voice from behind me asks just a second before large hands cover my eyes.

I giggle. "With hands so big and hairy, I'm gonna guess you're King Kong."

Emmett laughs. "You haven't changed a bit, Bella," he says, moving to stand in front of me. He kisses me in greeting on the cheek, and I return the gesture.

"You, on the other hand…" I say, taking hold of his forearms and stepping back to look him up and down. "You have changed quite a lot. Look at you, mister business man, in your expensive looking suit and tie, and that hair; all short, tamed, and combed back. Woot woo!"

He grins and rubs his hand across the back of his neck. "Yeah, I can't get away with the football shirts, tatty jeans and afro nowadays. Anyway… let's go inside and eat. I'm a growing boy, and I'm starving." Slinging an arm over my shoulder, he leads me towards the restaurant.

-oo0oo-

"I feel under-dressed for this place," I say in a hushed voice as we are escorted to our table by the maître d'. The décor of the restaurant is remarkably white and shiny – almost clinical. A single drop of red wine or sauce on the tablecloth will probably stick out like a sore thumb. "Are you in the habit of rubbing shoulders with celebrity chefs? What if I don't like the food? Will Marco come out and bite my head off?"

Emmett snickers as he pulls out a chair for me. "Nah. I've never seen him in here. Just relax."

The moment the menu is handed to me, I search for a reasonably priced main course as Emmett chats with the young, attractive waitress who introduces herself as Irina.

While Emmett may be paying, I won't take advantage of his generosity by ordering something ridiculously expensive – like the £31.00 T-bone steak. It's just one of those mannerisms I've picked up from Dad.

"Would you like something to drink, Bella?" Emmett asks after giving the girl his drink order.

I look at the menu again and shake my head. "I'm good for now."

"Would you like to order your meals?" Irina asks, looking only at Emmett who seems oblivious to Irina who is eyeing him like a juicy piece of… steak.

"Bella?" he questions. Would you like to order now?"

Not a fan of fish, pork, or liver, I settle for the chicken. "Spatchcock chicken, please?"

Emmett chuckles. "Are you sure about that? We're at a steakhouse. Don't you eat steak?"

"Yeah. Sometimes," I mutter.

He smiles knowingly. "Get the steak if you want the steak. Don't pick the cheapest thing off the menu just because I'm paying."

"Okay," I concede. "I'll have the eight-ounce house cut with a side of triple cooked chips and salad." Irina begins to write down my order.

"Scratch that," Emmett interjects. "She'll have the ten-ounce fillet, and I'll have the same. I'll also have a side of green veg and the creamed potatoes."

"How would you like your steak prepared, sir?" Irina asks.

"Knock its horns off, race it past the grill, and slap it on my plate," he announces proudly.

"So that would be blue, then," she asks to confirm, and he grins and nods in reply. Emmett's cheek dimples cause her to fumble her pen as she does a double-take.

"And you?" Irina asks, finally looking in my direction.

"Burn it 'til it begs for mercy."

-oo0oo-

"I don't know how you can eat that," Emmett complains.

"I could say the same to you," I retort.

"If I'd known you were going to order it well done, I would've let you settle for the cheaper house cut. That's sacrilege what's been done to that meat."

"When it comes to my food, I have a strict '_no blood_' rule," I say before popping a small piece of steak into my mouth.

He chuckles. "I'll bet the leather of my shoes is less chewy than that piece of beef is right now."

"Shut up! At least my meat isn't looking up at me with soft, brown eyes and mooing at me as it bleeds all over the plate."

Emmett guffaws and takes another sip of wine. Before our meals arrived, we briefly talked about the things that have happened in Emmett's life since he left film school. In one way, I'm kind of envious that he's had such a charmed career path, and that he had the opportunity to branch out on his own, but in another way, I'm not. Although he's successful, he's more or less stuck behind a desk rather than the eye-piece of a camera.

"So, you've met my cousin," Emmett says, changing the subject.

"Yeah. Liam's lovely. He looked after my gran during her most-recent course of chemotherapy."

"How is she going?"

"Not so good. In fact, I almost cancelled our lunch today. According to Dad, she was quite ill last night with nausea and vomiting. I don't know why she's putting herself through it all. The side-effects of the chemo are horrendous."

Emmett shrugs. "I guess when a person is faced with their own mortality…" he trails off.

"I suppose."

"Liam mentioned you just came back from America to help look after her."

"Well, that's not strictly true."

Emmett looks at me quizzically. "And what is the truth?"

"The truth is that I lost my job," I confess.

-oo0oo-

"He fired you, too?" Emmett asks in disbelief after I've told him the whole story… well most of the story. Never one to overshare, I left out the most intimate details of my relationship with Riley.

"Yep, not only that, Aro pretty much got me kicked out of the country since none of the other production companies in Seattle would even look at me based on his reference. I could have looked for work interstate, but with my savings running out – and Gran's cancer – I guess I just decided that my safest option was to come home and lick my wounds, so to speak."

Irina appears with our desserts. A sundae glass with Eton Mess is set before Emmett, and a plate of sticky toffee pudding and ice cream is placed before me. Despite the patron at one of the nearby tables that is trying to get Irina's attention, she seems to be hovering. She slowly pours another glass of red wine for Emmett, even though he didn't ask for one, and then she starts to rearrange our unused cutlery and stemware on the table. It's awkward.

"Thank you, that will be all," Emmett says in a tone that effectively dismisses her, and appearing chastised, Irina leaves. "So what are your plans now," he asks, resuming our conversation.

I shrug. "I've sent out a few résumés to some of the production companies and studios that cover sporting events, but I just got the standard reply, saying that they'll keep me on file for an interview if something becomes available."

"Have you thought about doing something else?"

"What? Not working in film?" I give him the '_are you crazy_' look.

"No, I mean doing something other than sports videography."

"Why? Do you know someone who's hiring?" I dig my spoon into the pudding and ice cream. It looks and smells delicious, and my tastebuds are anticipating the first mouthful. I bring the spoonful to my lips. It tastes like Heaven.

"Yeah. Me. You interested?"

In surprise, I inhale at the wrong moment and start to choke on my pudding. Coughing violently, I reach for my napkin.

Emmett pats me on the back and passes his glass to me. "Here. Drink," he urges.

Doing as he asks, I take a sip of the dry, red wine and then grimace. I rarely consume alcohol, and when I do, I prefer the sweeter drinks that taste more sugary than alcoholic. At the taste, I start coughing into the napkin again and tears begin to stream down my cheeks. Emmett signals to Irina and calls out for water. Half a minute later, a glass of water appears before me and I drink it greedily.

"Are you okay, Bella?" Emmett asks once my coughing fit has subsided.

I nod and take in a deep breath trying to relax the stricture in my throat. My hand is fluttering around in front of my face as I rasp, "Wrong hole."

Emmett chuckles. "That's what she said."

Rolling my eyes, I take another drink before speaking again. "I take back what I said before. You haven't changed at all, Em. You're still a big kid."

"Oh, come on. You walked right into that one."

I giggle and then sigh. "I guess I did." I place my glass back on the table. "So… did I just hear you correctly when you said you were hiring?"

"Yeah, but judging from your reaction, I guess the thought of working at EMC Squared doesn't thrill you."

"No… I mean yes! I mean- I'd love to, but-"

"But?" Emmett is looking at me, perplexed. I don't blame him one little bit. Even I don't know what I'm trying to say.

"You haven't even seen my work, and I've never filmed a nature documentary before. I-"

Emmett interjects. "You're wrong on one part."

"What?"

"I have seen your work."

"You have? When? Where?"

"Through your online blog."

I'm stunned. "You've seen my blog? I thought my parents and Gran were the only ones following that thing."

Emmett shakes his head. "When Liam mentioned you recently returned after working in America, I found your LinkedIn profile and the URL to your blog. You've done some brill work. You should be pleased."

To hear that someone such as Emmett does like my work makes me feel immensely proud. "Thank you so much for saying that."

"I mean it, Bella. You've got a keen eye for action, which has served you well in your chosen area so far, but I think you can easily transfer some of those skills to natural history documentaries."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely! Tracking a cheetah as it speeds across the savannah isn't a far stretch from tracking a snowboarder at the winter extreme games."

"Well… I don't know about that."

"Are you saying you don't want a job?"

"It's not that, it's just..." I'm conscious that I'm chewing on my lower lip, a bad habit of mine when I'm nervous, but I can't seem to stop it.

"It's just what?" Emmett asks.

I sigh. "I'd love to work for you, but I don't want to let you down or make you think badly of me if it doesn't work out. Liam mentioned his ex was the last person you hired and-"

"Now just wait there," Emmett admonishes. "Eric was an idiot, and I wasn't the one who hired him; it was my dad."

"Why would your dad hire someone when it's your company?"

"It's a long story." Emmett picks up his wine glass and swallows the last of his drink before continuing. "It happened when I was in India for two weeks. I was negotiating a project in conjunction with the BBC to film the lions in Gir National Park, and while I was away, Charlotte, my personal assistant, had to go on maternity leave earlier than expected. Thinking my Dad knew the situation, I called him and asked if he could hire someone to help me out because I was too busy to deal with it. I thought he knew I just wanted someone to help in the office, so I could get away from the phone once in a while and get some work done.

"When I came back from India, I found out Dad had hired this guy called Eric, whom he'd met at my uncle's 50th birthday party. I didn't like him on sight, but Dad told me to give the guy a chance as a favour to Liam. Things were okay for a few weeks – he wasn't a great assistant, in fact, he was a bit lazy and needed a lot of direction – but he hadn't managed to screw up anything. Then one afternoon after I'd sent him out to get me some lunch, Eric mentions he's a London Film Academy graduate, and he thought my dad had hired him to work as a camera operator, not as my personal errand boy. The phone rang, and it was an important call I'd been waiting for. I just wanted Eric out of my face, so I stupidly picked up a piece of paper from the top of a pile and told him to research it.

"Turns out I'd handed him a copy of an email that a friend of mine had sent to me a few months ago. Peter is a travel journalist with Wanderlust Magazine, and while travelling through Alice Springs on his way to Uluru, he came across a guy who runs his own sanctuary for orphaned kangaroo joeys. Peter thought the sanctuary and the owner would make for a compelling documentary. He also thought that the publicity might help the guy out by generating some donations to go towards the day to day running costs of the sanctuary. So Eric comes back to me a few days later, and unbeknown to me, he's already organised flights, visas, accommodation, and camera equipment, so he can go and shoot some taster footage in order to make a presentation to the execs from the BBC's Natural History Unit."

I chuckle at the audacity. "Geez. Talk about putting the cart before the horse."

"Yeah. So I just thought, okay he's organised it, let's see what he can do in a week. What's the harm in that?"

"And?" I ask, my curiosity running rampant to know what happened.

"You've gotta see it to believe it."

-oo0oo-

**_51°29'32.91"N 0°17'22.13"W_**

**_EMC² Tower – Brentford – Greater London._**

"Oh my great giddy aunt. What planet did Liam find this guy on?" I ask in wonder, pulling off my jumper so that I'm in my T-shirt. I'm laughing so hard that I'm sweating, and I have tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks. I can barely see the images playing out on the large screen that's suspended from the ceiling. "Shit. You got any tissues, Em? I need a tissue to wipe my eyes."

Emmett riffles through the top drawer of his desk. "Nope. Sorry. I'm all out."

"You need to hire a new assistant. Then you'd have all the necessities in here," I complain. "First, you tell me you're out of plain crisps, and now tissues..."

"No shit. And when I have five minutes to sit down to write a wanted ad, I'll get right on it."

"You should hire that girl from the restaurant. She looked about ready to do anything you asked. I'll bet you could get her to do your dick... tation while sitting on your lap. I noticed that she gave you her number."

"Shut up!" Emmett retorts as he throws a salt and vinegar crisp at my head. I throw it back at him, and he eats it.

I make do by wiping my face with the sleeve of my jumper and relax back into the soft leather seat once again. We are both sitting in Emmett's office with our feet propped on the desk as we watch the first – and only – day of footage that Eric took in Alice Springs.

"Wait… wait… here it comes," Emmett says through his own stifled giggles.

I explode into laughter while watching the shaky, disjointed imagery as Eric pans around wildly, only to discover he is once again face to face with his nemesis – a rather large and muscular red kangaroo that seems to have taken considerable umbrage at being filmed _in flagrante delicto_.

"In a battle as old as time itself, it's man versus marsupial," Emmett says in a wrestling commentators voice.

Eric urges the animal to, _"Shoo, Sam. Shoo!" _however, the kangaroo just stares him down.

"Artistically speaking, Mister McCarty, I believe this scene requires some music to portray the palpable tension between the two lead characters," I say, parodying one of the stuffier lecturers from our days at film school. I pick up my can of Coke and take a sip.

"And what theme music would you choose, Miss Swan?"

"Hmm. I'd go with '_Man With A Harmonica_' by Ennio Morricone."

"From '_Once Upon A Time In The West?'_" he asks, and I nod in confirmation. "Nice choice."

We touch our cans of fizzy pop together in a congratulatory toast. "Thank you. I thought I was the only one who appreciated a little Spaghetti Western every now and then."

"What's not to love about Fonda, Bronson, and Robards?"

"Some say it was the best movie in the history of Hollywood cinema to flop at the box office."

"I know, right?"

"Um… What on earth is that sound?" I ask.

"Who? Eric or the kangaroo? 'Cause I think that's the sound of Eric pissing his pants."

I chuckle. "The kangaroo; he almost sounds like a ticking clock."

"More like a ticking time bomb about to explode. Watch what happens next."

The kangaroo rushes at Eric. Eric screams like a girl and then drops the camera from his shoulder and runs. The motion of the images on the screen almost makes me feel ill as Eric runs around, screaming, for about five minutes while trying to get away from the animal.

"This is just like watching '_The Blair Witch Project'_. I think I feel car sick," I complain, and Emmett chuckles.

"Hang on. I'll fast-forward it 'cause he runs around like that for quite a bit longer." Emmett picks up the remote. As he fast-forwards, he hums '_Yakety Sax,'_ which makes me burst into laughter again, and then he has to rewind it a little to cue the footage to where he wants it.

A frozen image of Eric's face up close is on the screen. Emmett is right. He looks like a moron. He has purple hair with the sides swept forward, a nose-ring, and a lip ring. If Kelly Osborne had a love-child with Justin Bieber, he'd probably look like Eric.

"Righto, here we go…" Emmett announces. "You're gonna love this. A living eulogy to himself."

_"As a cinematographer, I've given some thoughts to how I might die, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd die of dehydration, cut up and bleeding while perched in a tree in the middle of the Australian outback. As you can see, Sam is down below. He's an insane and perpetually randy, seven-foot tall, alpha-male kangaroo, and he belongs to that equally mental bloke, Cullen."_

"Whoa! What the fuck?" I exclaim, turning to look at Emmett in incredulity.

Emmett hits the pause button. "I know, right? There's no way that kangaroo is seven feet tall."

"No! I mean the part where he called himself a _cinematographer! _Does he even know the meaning of the word?"

"Probably not. I found out – too late – that while Eric had enrolled at the London Film Academy, he didn't bother to turn up to most of the lectures or submit any of his own work. He got kicked out for plagiarism."

"Are you serious?"

"You wanna know what he said when I confronted him about it?" I nod. "He said, Quentin Tarantino, Ridley Scott, and James Cameron were all accused of plagiarism too, and that he was just misunderstood. He said he was paying homage to the original owner of the work." Emmett nods and then turns back to the screen. "This is what got him fired though." He presses play.

I watch on in a combination of horror and amusement as Eric – while attempting to adjust his position in the tree – manages to lose his grip on the camera. There is an audible smashing sound as it hits the ground, and the screen goes dark. There are strange muffled noises and what looks like red dust all over the screen. Then the image starts to shake violently.

"What is that?" I ask.

"That's where the kangaroo beat the shit out of the camera and tried to bury it."

I stare in wonder at the carnage playing out before me with my hand over my mouth. "Please tell me you sent him with something relatively cheap to replace. Like a Canon EOS five D mark two. It's what I would send out with someone on a scout. It was good enough to film a whole episode of '_House'_, so it's good enough for an untested rookie."

Emmett gulps before shaking his head and blowing out a long breath. He looks as though he's about to confess an unforgivable sin... or throw up. "Red Epic."

"Say what?!" Surely I heard that wrong.

"It was a Red Epic X Mysterium… X pro," he mutters.

"Are you fucking insane?!" I exclaim. "Jesus, Em! You're seriously telling me that you sent camera equipment to Australia, worth over £30,000, with that idiot?"

"It could have been worse. I could have sent him with an ARRI Alexa."

"That's not the-" I start to say, but then I hear a voice coming from the speakers."

_"Sam! Get away from there. Go on, get."_ The voice is not Eric's. The accent is undeniably Australian and very manly. It's a far cry from Eric's effeminate tone. The profile of a black, dusty, elastic-sided work boot appears on the screen. _"C'mon, you brute. It's me you want a piece of, not him. That's it. Come 'ere an' pick on someone your own size…" _The boots – there are two of them now – move forward and then back, forward and back again, like a boxer moving in and out of range of an opponent. _Whoa!" _

The boots turn and disappear, quickly followed by a flash of reddish-grey fur. The image on the screen is silent as the dust settles. Emmett hits fast-forward again, and I look to him for an explanation, but in response, he shrugs. He presses play again when the boots reappear on the screen.

_"Oh, thank God you're here, Cullen,"_ Eric says. _"I thought I was going to die." _

_"I was only gone for half an hour. Why are you in that tree?"_

_"That psycho beast attacked me and chased me up here." _There is the sound of grunting and a groan as I assume the person, called Cullen, helps Eric out of the tree. _"Thank you. That animal should be shot. Look at these cuts on my arms! I think this one on my shoulder needs stitches. And look here… it bit me. Can you get rabies from kangaroos?"_

_"Why are you on this side of the fence?" _

_"Well… I saw Sam was about to get it on with one of the lady kangaroos, so I thought I'd get some footage."_

_"So what you're telling me is that you took it upon yourself to go into Sam's territory while he was with one of his harem. What was the last thing I said to you before I left?"_ the man asks angrily.

_"Don't go over the fence,"_ Eric confesses.

_"We're done here. Take your camera and go home."_ The image on the screen starts to move, and through the grit and the broken glass of the lens, I can just make out the underside of a man's strong jawline as the camera is lifted from the ground and thrust back at Eric.

Eric grunts due to the force at which the camera hits his chest. He looks down at the camera, curses and then blows some of the dust off the lens. The camera is lowered, and the fractured image on the screen shows a man walking away, heading towards a fence. He's wearing khaki shorts, a navy coloured, short-sleeved shirt, and a bushman's hat.

_"Hey! We have a contract," _Eric yells._ "I gave you money, so you have to let me do my work. We have a contract!" _

The man doesn't bother to turn around_. "I don't have to let you do shit. I have a contract with EMC Squared. I don't have a contract with you. Now get the fuck off my land."_

Emmett stands up and walks towards the audio-visual centre that's built into the wall. "At least the camera was cleaned and repaired under insurance," Emmett remarks as he removes the disc from the DVD player, and the screen retracts into the ceiling.

"Thank God for small mercies," I say, taking my feet off the desk and standing up. I toss our empty chip packets and the cans into the rubbish bin and then pull on my jumper. I check the time on my watch. It's getting close to 5:00pm. I wonder how I'm going to get home from here.

"So, have you thought about what I said?" Emmett asks.

"You're still serious?"

He nods. "I know your work ethic, Bella. You busted your arse working different jobs to put yourself through film school while I cruised through on my dad's money. Above anyone else I've hired, I know you would be a great asset to this company. You're serious about your craft, and I value your opinion as a friend. I'd love to work with you. Please, I'm begging you. Come work with me."

I like how Emmett says, 'Work _with_ me,' instead of work _for_ me. I also remember what Dad said to me this morning in the kitchen. "Okay. I'll give it a go."

He grins widely. "Excellent. You're gonna love it here. You won't regret it. Now, let's go out and celebrate your new job, and we'll go over the specifics."

I look down at my watch again. "Actually, I shouldn't. It's getting dark, and I need to get the train…"

The smile is instantly wiped from Emmett's face, as though someone just kicked his puppy. "If you're sure, but if you're worried about getting home safely, I'm more than happy to drive you."

"Oh. Okay then." I smile. "Just let me call my Dad. I'd like to check on Gran."

-oo0oo-

**_EMC² Tower – Brentford – Greater London._**

**_Monday _****_February 17th 2014._**

After signing my contract with EMC Squared and meeting Eleazar, Emmett's Dad, I'm shown around the office. I get to meet two of the other members of the team who have just come back from an assignment. Ben Cheney is one of the lighting assistants and Angie Weber works as a sound recordist. After the obligatory introductions and small talk, they ask me to meet them for lunch. Emmett then shows me to a room he lovingly calls, 'The Vault,' which houses all the production equipment the company owns.

"Now this is the business," he says gleefully. "On that side is the equipment we hire out. Depending on what the client wants, we can tailor a basic kit from as little as £250 a day, up to £1300 per day for a Red Epic feature package. If they want anything more sophisticated, they have to hire one of our camera crews. And this… is the stuff we use exclusively for EMC Squared projects." Emmett looks excited as he opens various hard cases, and just like a little kid in a store full of LEGO, he starts to assemble the pieces.

"Check this baby out," he says after a few minutes, distracting me from my perusal of the shelves.

I stare in awe at the camera I've only ever dreamed of using. It's an ARRI Alexa.

"I think I want to have its babies," I say with a breathy sigh while gently stroking its body with reverence.

Emmett chuckles. "I think it's going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

-oo0oo-

**_51°26'54.02"N 0°19'38.69"W_**

**_Sandringham Court – Twickenham – Middlesex._**

**_Thursday_****_ February 20th 2014._**

"What do you think? Angie asks as soon as the real estate agent steps out of the front door. Her nose is wrinkled, probably due to the slightly musty smell in the flat.

"It's not bad for the price, I guess. It could use a fresh coat of paint and some modernisation of the kitchen appliances. Some new curtains and flooring will probably get the old lady smell out, but otherwise, it looks more or less solid to me," I say, looking up at the ceiling to check for any large cracks.

"I suppose. It's just a giant step for me. I don't want to end up with a money pit."

"It's nice and close to Twickenham Station," I offer.

"Yeah it is, but I have my car, and this flat has allocated parking. I've calculated that it will take me about twenty minutes to get to work in the morning. It'll cut down my travel time by thirty minutes."

"Half your luck," I scoff." I've been leaving for work at five in the morning and getting home after eight."

"Really? Angie asks, looking at me as though I'm mad. "Blimey! Where do you live?"

"Wiltshire."

"Geez. You're dedicated." She looks around the two-bedroom flat again. It takes her all of one minute. "You know what? If I buy this place, you should move in with me. I wouldn't charge much for rent, and it would help me out with the mortgage."

"That's a bit forward. We only met four days ago, and you know nothing about me. What if we don't get along?" I ask, and then I smile to let her know that I'm kind of joking. So far, Angie and I have gotten along like a house on fire, but we hardly know one another.

In response, Angie just shrugs. "The offer's there..." She looks around again, this time opening drawers and cupboards; testing the taps for water pressure and the sinks for drainage. To be helpful, I start checking all the doors and windows to make sure they open and close properly.

"Well?" I ask. I check my watch and note we've got twenty minutes of our lunch break left. "We need to leave now if I'm going to get to my meeting on time."

"I think I'm going to take it. I'll make arrangements for an independent building inspector to look it over, of course, but I think it's got fantastic potential."

We walk out of the front door, and as we meet up with the agent, Angie says she'd like to put in an offer and will contact her later this afternoon to organise a time when a building inspector can check the place over. They shake hands and then we leave.

-oo0oo-

**_EMC² Tower – Brentford – Greater London._**

I rush into the reception area of Emmett's office. Thanks to traffic, I'm five minutes late. Rose, the new girl from the temp agency smiles and waves me past her desk, indicating I can go straight in.

"Sorry I'm late, boss," I say, plopping down heavily into a chair and sliding my handbag to the floor. "Angie wanted to look at a flat during our lunch break."

Emmett turns away from his computer screen. "That's okay. This is an informal meeting anyway. I just wanted to chat and see how you're going."

"Oh, all right. Um… I'm good."

"Are you enjoying the job so far? Has everyone been treating you well?"

"Yeah, they have. They've all been particularly welcoming and helpful."

Emmett beams. "That's great. I'm pleased to hear it. And how is your gran?"

"To be honest, I haven't seen much of her this week. I'm out of the house at sparrows-fart while everyone is sleeping, and by the time I get home she's in bed, asleep. Dad says she's been a bit confused at times."

"I'm sorry to hear that. The reason I asked to see you is because I want to offer you a specific assignment, but please don't feel obligated to do it just because I'm the one asking you." I sit forward in my seat, anxious to hear what Emmett has to say. He continues. "I'm aware of the situation with your gran, and I understand you might not want to leave the country at this time…"

"Em. Spit it out," I urge.

"Okay. I was on the phone this morning to Cullen."

"Cullen. Cullen?" I mutter. I'm racking my brain in an attempt to recall who Cullen is.

"He's the owner of the kangaroo sanctuary just outside of Alice Springs," Emmett clarifies when I draw a blank.

"Oh, right. The kangaroos." I nod, understanding dawning upon me.

"Anyway… we still have a short-term contract with Cullen to allow us to film on his land for a week, but our time is running out. He's still pretty pissed off about what Eric did – not that I blame him – but I need some decent footage to present to the BBC, and I think you might be the right person for the assignment. In fact, I know you'll be the right person."

Even though Emmett says I can refuse, I know I'll feel guilty if I do.

"I can see, just by looking at you, that you're conflicted," he says.

I stop chewing on my lower lip long enough to ask him a question. "How long do you have until the initial contract runs out?"

"End of next week."

"Shit. That soon?" Emmett nods. "So when do you need my answer?"

"Pretty much straight away. We need to confirm flights, accommodation, get your visa sorted, travel insurance, and start organising what equipment you'll be taking." Emmett's phone starts to ring, and he picks it up. "Rose? Okay, tell him I'll call back in a minute." He settles the phone on the top of his desk and then cocks an eyebrow at me in question.

I blow out a breath of air in frustration. "I really want to say yes."

"I know you do, but I understand family is a big priority for you right now." I nod. "Take an hour to think about it, but after that, I'll need an answer either way. If you feel you can't do it, I'll see if Mike Newton is going to be available." Emmett taps on the keyboard of his laptop computer and then grimaces at what he sees. "Bugger."

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Mike's not due back from Tibet until late Friday afternoon. He's gonna hate me." He looks up from the screen. "No pressure, Bella. This is my problem, not yours. As I said, go off and think about it and then let me know."

I nod, pick up my handbag, and then stand. As I exit the room, I pull my phone out of my pocket and call Sue. The phone rings, and after a few seconds, she answers my call.

"Sue? How's Gran today?"

-oo0oo-

**_23°48'6.43"S 133°54'11.2"E_**

**_Alice Springs Airport – Northern Territory – Australia_**

**_Monday_****_ February 24th 2014._**

Exhausted and sore, I wait by the baggage carousel with the other passengers. I'm just waiting for the hard case that contains the camera equipment to reappear; I missed it last time. I already have the rest of my luggage. I turn my head from side to side and take a moment to study my surroundings. The terminal of Alice Springs Airport is somewhat smaller than the one I flew into earlier when I landed in Darwin just before 5am. Sadly, there was no time for sight-seeing during the short layover. After passing through customs and immigration, I mostly saw the insides of my eyelids as I sat in the departure lounge and meditated until it was time to board.

Although the terminal appears clean, there's a pervading smell that causes me to breathe through my mouth rather than my nose. It's a combination of cigarette smoke, wood smoke, body odour, and dirt. A young Aboriginal man nudges his way past me towards the conveyor belt to collect a large battered suitcase, and the pungent, outdoorsy smell becomes stronger. I watch as he walks with the case towards an elderly Aboriginal woman, and I realise he must have been standing behind me the whole time.

Finally, the hard case appears, and I quickly reach my arm between two women in order to grab it from the carousel before it can disappear back into the wall to begin another lap.

While struggling with my three items of luggage that refuse to cooperate, I manage to make my way outside to the footpath. There are examples of public artwork all around, from the window awnings and canopies that shade the morning sun, to the building's pillars and fences. They all appear to have indigenous designs, and from the little I know about Aboriginal culture and artwork, I suspect that each one tells a story.

Following the directions, I walk to the Hertz office and after signing the rental agreement and electing to pay for the additional portable GPS, I manage to find the black, Nissan compact SUV in the car park and load my gear into the back.

-oo0oo-

"Thank God," I mutter to myself as soon as I've started the car, plugged in the GPS, and figured out how to turn on the air-conditioning. Although it's not even gone past ten in the morning, the temperature reading on the dashboard says it's already 30°C. I turn on the GPS and enter the address for the backpackers lodge, and it informs me that the journey will take about nineteen minutes. Heading north, I drive in the direction of the Stuart Highway – the main road that will take me into Alice Springs.

By the time I've hit the intersection to turn onto the highway, I've come to the conclusion that I've landed on Mars – the planet of the pick-ups. The colour of the soil here is orangey-red, and I swear that every car I've passed in the opposite direction – about twenty so far – has been a pick-up truck of some sort. I turn right, and not too far along the highway, I see the 'Welcome To Alice Springs' sign up ahead. The sign, carved into rock, looks interesting, so I slow down a bit to take a look. Suddenly, I hear the sound of a loud horn blaring behind me. In my rear-view mirror, I see the most terrifying thing barrelling towards me. At almost two-stories tall, the biggest truck I have ever seen begins to overtake me. What follows is twenty seconds of terror as I'm nearly blown off the road by the wind shear created by a quadruple-length truck. As the road train rockets past me, it kicks up dust and small stones, and I worry that my windscreen will end up getting shattered. Trembling after the ordeal, I pull over to the shoulder for a minute or two to settle my nerves.

Feeling brave enough to tackle the highway once again, but still paranoid that I'll come across another road train, I resume my course. Not far along, I see a sign with a familiar name, and I realise it's the road that heads towards the sanctuary. On a whim, I decide that now is as good a time as any to meet with Mister Cullen. I slow down, turn right, and as I drive along, I try to keep an eye out for a gate with the letter 'C' on it.

-oo0oo-

**_23°46'52.51"S 133°53'50.38"E_**

**_The Gate – Connellan. _**

I'd almost given up, but after driving for about ten minutes, I knew I must have missed the gate, and I turned the car around.

Now parked before the gate, with the faded letter 'C', I notice there is a large lock and chain on it, so I head to the back of the car, grab my backpack and hard case and then make my way over the fence.

-oo0oo-

I'm melting. Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea after all.

I've been walking along the sandy, red track for a while now, and I can just make out a red building shimmering like an oasis in the distance. If I have to spend my days here in the sun during this assignment, I'm gonna need a bigger hat and a load a sun cream. I'm also going to need a tonne of insect repellent because there are so many flies; it's ridiculous.

As I approach the building, which actually looks more like a shed, I can hear music, and someone, whom I assume is Mister Cullen, is singing along. He must be on the other side. I make my way around the building so I can meet the man who will be the star in the documentary.

On rounding the building, I'm utterly unprepared for what I see, and realise I've made a huge mistake in coming here unannounced.

Before me is a very tall man. At a guess, I'd say he's six-foot-five, maybe even a bit taller, although I don't think he's as big as Felix the security guy who worked at VIP – but that's altogether trivial.

The man's back is facing towards me, and he's facing the side of the building. He's standing in an old green and white cast-iron bath tub, underneath a spray of water that seems to be coming from some sort of outdoor solar-heated shower system.

And he's naked.

Wet and completely naked.

* * *

**A/N - Thanks to all who took the time to read and review the last chapter. I love hearing your thoughts.**

**In regards to the descriptions of Alice Springs and its inhabitants, I mean no disrespect. The place is what it is, and I'm writing it (with insider knowledge) from the perspective of an outsider.**

**BoB xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**_23°47'6.14"S 133°53'54.90"E_**

**_The Sanctuary - Connellan - NT._**

_"So if I had this all my way, honey you won't ever know  
I'd be there through every night and day, promise you won't ever go..."_

Oh boy. This is awkward.

Deciding that I need to beat a hasty retreat from the naked shower-singing man, I take a step back. I hope and pray to God that he doesn't turn around. If he catches me standing and staring at him like some perverted voyeur, I'm toast, and I don't want to start off my working relationship with Mister Cullen on the wrong foot. That would be disastrous – extremely and epically disastrous. If I screw up this assignment right from the get-go, Emmett's going to wonder why on Earth he thought hiring me was a fantastic idea.

_"I won't hold back from you this time  
Baby I've got you on my mind."_

While keeping my eye on him, I take another step back; then another. I'm hoping to make it to the nearest tree. I have to chuckle when he manages to hit a falsetto note as he sings along with a portable radio that's sitting next to a pile of clothes on an old wine barrel. I take another step back, trying to stifle my giggles with my hand as he starts to nod his head and wiggle his bum along to the catchy rock guitar riff.

"Please, please, don't turn around," I say to myself, under my breath.

Another step back and- "Whoa! Ooofff. Bugger!"

Suddenly, I'm looking at rust-red dirt from a new and peculiar angle, and I have a sharp stinging pain on the side of my head. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have a large bruise on my thigh since I just tripped over the hard case and managed to land on the sharp, metal edge. Thanks to the sleeveless blue blouse I'm wearing, the heat of the earth is starting to burn the side of my right arm. While struggling to disentangle myself from my backpack, I roll over and attempt to stand up.

The music stops. "Oi, lady!' the man yells out. "Whaddya you think yer doin'?"

I turn around and see that the bearded man is now standing outside of the bath tub. He's shielding his genitals by holding a black bushman's hat in front of them. The man, even in his curious anger, is quite good looking, though he's somewhat younger than what I expected Mister Cullen would be.

"I'm- I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" I stammer while trying to look anywhere else apart from where the hand is holding the now slightly crushed hat. I signal over my shoulder with my thumb to let him know that I won't bother him anymore. "I was just- I'm leaving."

I start to gather up my fallen backpack and camera hard case when another male voice calls out. "Thank God you finally shut that friggin' racket off. I was just about to come out to turn it down. You nearly ready to go?"

I look up to see another tall man rounding the side of the building. Apart from the black workboots, he's dressed all in khaki, from his socks to his shirt and shorts.

"Have you seen my hat… anywhere?" the newcomer asks, halting when he takes in the scene before him. The man looks at me – back to the mostly-naked man – then down to the hand holding onto the hat. "You owe me a new hat, Jake," he says in a deadpan voice.

"Hey! It's clean," the man – who seems to be called Jake – says in defence while gesturing to what he's hiding under the hat.

"Debatable," the other man replies dryly.

With a tilt of his head, Jake gestures to me and grins. "You've got company, Boomer. Finally got yourself a new girlfriend?"

I feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise while the other man scowls at Jake.

"No. If it's who I think it is, she's here to work."

"Work? What's she doing then," Jake asks, crinkling his nose, "besides sneaking up on people while they're showering?"

"I didn't mean to," I protest, offended at his accusation.

"She's here to film the roos. You're Isabella Swan from EMC Squared, right?" the other man asks.

Since he knows my name and why I'm here, I'm now assuming that _this_ is the owner of the sanctuary. "Yes. I am, and you're Mister Cullen?" I ask, formally addressing the ruggedly handsome man, just to be sure.

He nods in reply before turning to look back at Jake in annoyance. "Don't just stand there starkers. Put some clothes on, ya idiot. There's a lady here."

"Never heard any complaints from the ladies before," Jake replies brazenly.

I have to control my facial features at being referred to as 'a lady' because, at the moment, I'm sure I look far from it. My sweaty hair probably has bits of red soil and dry grass stuck in it, and my clothes are similarly dirty due to falling arse over tit.

Jake begins to gather his belongings from the top of the wine barrel. Clutching the clothes against his backside to shield me from the rear view, he walks around to the other side of the building. Once Jake is out of sight, Mister Cullen approaches and offers his hand in greeting. His grip is surprisingly gentle, even though his quite large, calloused hand dwarfs my own. In order to meet his face, rather than the broad expanse of his chest, I have to crane my neck back.

At a guess, I'd say Mister Cullen is in his mid-30s. He's quite tall; as tall as Jake, and I have to wonder what is in the water here that makes these guys stand head and shoulders above most other men. The colour of his hair is a mixture of browns and reds, as though parts of it have been lightened by the sun, and he has a few days' worth of stubble on his strong, square jaw and cheeks.

"I'm afraid you've come at a bad time, Isabella," he says looking down at me. "I was just about to drive Jake into town and then go to bed."

"Bed – now? But it's the middle of the day," I say in surprise; although looking at his eyes – that I discover are a mixture of green, brown and gold – he does appear to be quite tired.

"I've driven all night, and besides, there's not much to see here right now. The roos are crepuscular. They're most active at dusk and dawn – sleeping during the heat of the day to conserve the water in their bodies. They'll be up again after five when things start to cool down."

"Oh. Okay," I reply in disappointment and release his hand. Strangely, my own hand is left feeling vulnerable and bereft after being released from his warm grasp. "Shall I come back later then?"

He nods. "Yeah. That'd be best."

Jake reappears. He's dressed in jeans and a motorcycle T-shirt that claims he survived something called the 2012 Finke Desert Race. He's carrying a guitar case in one hand, and a large duffle bag is slung over his shoulder. He's also wearing the hat – on his head this time.

On seeing the hat, Mister Cullen scowls, folds his arms, and shakes his head.

"You gonna drive me into town now, so I can check on my ute?" Jake asks, totally ignoring Mister Cullen's displeased glare.

"S'pose," Mister Cullen says in a tired voice, and then he turns away and yawns loudly into his clenched fist.

"Actually, I'm heading into town. I can take you there – if you want?" I offer the ride as a way to make up for my previous faux pas.

"Thanks. That'd be great," Jake says. He grins widely, and Mister Cullen gives me a grateful look. The poor man looks dead on his feet.

"Where's your car?" Jake asks me as I start dusting myself down to remove some of the dirt and dry grass from my skin and clothes. "I didn't hear a car pull up."

"The gate was locked, so I'm parked out the front by the road."

"In that case, I'll drive you two to the gate," Mister Cullen says to me. He reaches down and picks up my backpack and grasps the handle of the camera hard case. "I'm expecting a truck sometime this afternoon to refill the propane tanks, so I need to unlock it anyway."

We follow Mister Cullen around to the side of the building where I see an older model, 2-door Toyota RAV4. It's a faded metallic blue and silver colour. He opens the back and places my bags inside, and then grabs Jake's duffle. To see such a relatively small car surprises me. Mister Cullen strikes me as the sort of man who would be the poster boy for an unbreakable Hilux or Landcruiser, or maybe a massive Ford F150.

I clamber into the backseat, and Jake passes me the guitar case which I have to lay partly across my lap because there's no room for it in the back. Watching the two men as they almost fold themselves in half in order to get into the front seats of the car is rather funny. Jake has to take off the hat, and even then, his head is nearly touching the roof. Now that his black, collar-length hair is drier, I note that it's quite wavy and soft looking, and I almost want to reach forward to touch it.

"I live for the day you'll upgrade to a big boy car," Jake says teasingly as he buckles his seatbelt.

"Didn't hear any complaining about my car last night when it was towing your heap of crap for four hours," Mister Cullen retorts as he starts the engine.

"What happened to your car?" I ask while buckling my own seatbelt.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Jake mutters, and in response Mister Cullen snickers. "Here… You want your hat back?" he asks, passing the hat towards Mister Cullen.

"No," he replies emphatically, pushing the hat away. "I told you before – you're buying me a new one."

The drive back to the gate lasts all of one minute compared to the ten minutes it took me to walk. Mister Cullen gets out of the car, unlocks the gate, and opens it wide as Jake and I grab our belongings from the back of the Toyota, and then head for my rental car.

At the sight of yet another compact SUV, Jake grumbles. After stowing our bags in the back of the Nissan, Jake once again has to fold his large frame in half to enable him to get into the front seat. We then wave good-bye to Mister Cullen as I take off in the direction of the Stuart Highway.

"Thanks for giving me a lift to town; I really appreciate it," Jake says.

"Not a problem. Think nothing of it."

"In the future though, you should probably reconsider the whole good Samaritan thing when dealing with strange men."

"Why's that?" I ask.

"The Alice can be a dangerous place for a woman; especially a pretty foreigner like you."

I force myself not to roll my eyes in derision at his attitude. "Just because I'm a woman who's not stuck with an unfortunate face, it doesn't mean I'm weak and helpless. I've actually travelled to a lot of foreign places, you know."

"Always by yourself?"

"No," I concede. He raises his eyebrows at me as if I've just proven his point. "Have you ever travelled outside of Australia?" I challenge.

"No," he admits, "but I've lived in the Northern Territory my whole life so that makes me an expert on how to stay safe in Alice Springs."

"Fair point. Fine. Hit me with your best home-grown tips for staying alive in the outback."

"Firstly, if possible, don't flash too much money around and don't walk alone, especially at night – even if it's just a few streets."

This time I don't hold back an eye roll. "That kind of goes without saying. It's pretty much applicable to anywhere in the world. It's common sense no matter where you go; London. Seattle. New York-"

"Alice Springs – The stabbing capital of Australia?"

"What?" I feel my eyebrows shoot up at his statement. "Are you serious?"

He nods. "The Alice has the second highest crime rate in Australia per capita with a population of barely over 24,000. Just last night a woman was sexually assaulted in the street while walking through Larapinta, and two weeks ago, a woman was attacked by four men, not far from Anzac Hill. It's been all over the news."

"That's… awful." _Okay, maybe he's not a total sexist pig. "_Anything else?"

"Wherever you go, make sure you've got plenty of bottled water with you. It's summer here now, but even in winter you'll easily get dehydrated, and without water you'll be dead within two days. If you're driving alone, keep to the main roads, and always let someone trustworthy know where you're going and when you expect to arrive. There are long stretches of nothing between townships so it means you can't rely on mobile phone coverage if your car conks out in the middle of nowhere. If you do break down, don't wander off into the bush – stay with your car – it'll make it a lot easier to find you.

"Stay away from the Todd River at night; it's a trouble spot for drunken violence, and if anyone invites you to one of the town camps, don't go there."

"Why not?"

"Apart from being unsafe, you need a permit to enter."

_What in the Hell have I gotten into? _I wonder. _Is this place some sort of dystopian society? Was there a cataclysm or an apocalypse that I was blissfully unaware of? I always thought Australia was a fairly civilised nation._

"Er… Thanks for the advice. I'll try to be extra careful in the future. So, where am I heading?" I ask, attempting to change the subject before I decide to tuck tail and get back on the plane.

"Alice Paint and Panel. Just head right once you hit the highway, and I'll tell you where you need to go."

"Okay."

"I guess I should introduce myself properly," Jake says, holding out his hand to shake. "I'm Jake Japanangka Black."

"Isabella Swan," I reply, briefly taking my hand off the steering wheel to shake his, but keeping my eyes on the road ahead. "I'd prefer it if you called me, Bella, though."

"Great to meet you, Bella. So you're from England, huh?"

I nod. "Your name is interesting; is it hyphenated?" I ask.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Is your first-name Jake-Japanangka or is your last name Japanangka-Black. Or was that your middle name?"

He chuckles. "None of the above. Japanangka is my Warlpiri skin-name."

"What does that mean?"

"The name designates my kinship. It's my people's way of knowing where I fit in society. When two Yapa initially meet, the first thing they wanna know is your skin-name because it governs who your family is, your family's responsibility regarding ceremony, who is right to marry, and the ones you can and can't talk to." The confused look that I must have on my face encourages him to explain further. "Apart from the wide nose and dark hair, I know I don't look like a typical Aboriginal person, but I am. I'm Yapakaji – mixed race."

Fascinated, I need to know more. "So how do you get your skin-name? Is there some sort of sacred ceremony involved?"

Jake shakes his head. "It's based on an ethnomathematical order. The Warlpiri believe that the ancestors set up a pattern of life, but primarily, it's a system to ensure you don't accidently end up marrying your cousin because wrong-skin marriages are taboo." He smiles. "It's a bit complicated to explain without pen and paper, but it consists of eight skin groups that are then further divided into male and female names, so there are sixteen skin-names in total. The skin-name of the mother determines the skin-group of the children."

"Okay," I reply politely, not really following what he's just said.

"You said you'd travelled to lots of places. Have you ever been to Australia before?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. This is my first time. I landed in Darwin this morning, but didn't get to see much before I had to board the next flight to come to Alice Springs. I drove straight to the sanctuary from the airport. You've lived in Alice Springs your whole life?"

"No. I mostly grew up in a remote community called Yuendumu, which is about six hours drive from here. My kaparli-pardu – that is my mother's mother – was Nettie Nungarrayi Jurrah, and her brother was known as Ephraim Jungarrayi Jurrah. They grew up, living in and working at a whitefella pastoral station just outside of Yuendumu in the 60s and 70s. Levi Everingham was the son of the station owner, and when his old man died, he took over the station. He was a fair boss; he treated the people who worked for him, both blackfellas and whitefellas, all the same. Anyway, Levi loved Nettie, so Ephraim gave Levi, his friend and boss, the preferred skin-name, Jangala, so his sister could get married.

"My grandparents went on to have four kids, and my mother, Sarah Nampijinpa Everingham, was the youngest, but she left home when she was 18. She got involved with a bad whitefella, and the family didn't like him. They moved to Alice Springs, but he didn't stick around after he got my mother pregnant with me. After that, my mother moved back to Yuendumu, and when I was 4, she married Billy Japangardi Black because that was the man she was supposed to marry. My mum died a few years ago, but Billy still lives there. He's got a lot of health problems, so I go back most weekends to check on him."

"So who should you marry, and who shouldn't you talk to? Are you married?"

At this question, Jake grins. "Why do you want to know? You interested in me? 'Cause once you go Black, you never go back." He wiggles his eyebrows at me comically, and I giggle.

"No! It's just kind of fascinating. I know so little of Aboriginal culture, and I want to learn more while I'm here."

"Well, if, and when I marry, I should choose a Napurrurla girl; our sons, their skin-name would be Japangardi, and our daughters, Napangardi. I wouldn't be allowed to look at or speak directly to my mother-in-law or any women with the same skin-name as her. Not even be in the same room."

"Really? But what if she needed to tell you something of vital importance?"

"She'd have to ask someone else to pass on the message."

"Wow. I've heard of guys avoiding their mother-in-law before, but that's taking it to a new level."

"Years ago, most of the women were married at puberty to men who were in their 20s, 30s, or older. The son-in-law was probably as old as the girl's mother, so the avoidance practice was a way to prevent any illicit relationship or friction between the two. Of course, women aren't married off so young these days, but many still avoid their in-laws as a sign of respect."

At the intersection of the highway, I stop and keep my eyes peeled as I look both ways, waiting for a gap between the speeding cars and trucks that are going past at 100 kilometres or more per hour. Finding a suitable gap, I gun the engine and turn right.

"Anyway, that's enough about me; back to you. How long are you in town for?" he asks as the car begins to gather speed.

"A week."

"That's not long."

I shrug. "It should give me enough time to film a short presentation that will give the execs at the BBC a taste of things to come so we can get funding. I may get to come back for longer if they choose to go ahead with a documentary or TV series. I dunno. This is my first real assignment with EMC Squared, so I'm still finding my feet."

In my peripheral vision, I see Jake nod in understanding. "Will Boomer get paid for allowing you to film the sanctuary if they do decide to go ahead?"

"Of course."

"That's good," he says as he starts fiddling around with the air-conditioning vents so that they're aiming directly at him.

"Why do you call Mister Cullen, 'Boomer'?"

"It's his nickname."

"So what is his real name then?"

"That's a bit of a running joke in town. No one can actually remember, 'cept Boomer, of course."

I look at him dubiously. "How is it possible that people can forget someone's name?"

"I didn't know him when he first came to the Territory. He came from interstate to work at Henbury Station as a bore runner – that was in the years just before the land got sold off to become a carbon farming project. Anyway, the way Boomer tells it, one of the Yapa he used to work with had a teenaged son with a similar sounding name as him. The boy died in a car accident shortly after he had started working there, so after that, no one at the cattle station could call him by his first name because it was unmentionable.

"At first, everyone just called him 'Cullen', but once he began rescuing joeys, the station boss gave him the nickname, Boomer. He came to Alice Springs to live three years ago, and since then we've been trying to figure out what his real name is. At the Todd Tavern, there's a $2 jackpot competition to guess his first name. I reckon there must be close to $1000 in that pot now."

"How do they know if anyone has guessed the correct answer?"

"There's a list with all the names that have been guessed so far. Every Sunday night, Boomer goes to the tavern for a roast dinner. When he's there, he looks at the new list of names."

"$1000? I reckon I'd like to get in on that action. Has anyone guessed, Rumplestiltskin?"

In response, Jake bursts into laughter. "Yeah," he replies. "I'm pretty sure that one's been tried."

"Damn. Thought I was on to a winner with that one," I joke.

"So, back to you… are you married or do you have a boyfriend?"

"Um… No. There was someone; someone special, but he died. It was quite recent actually; last November."

"I'm sorry," he says, and then our conversation lapses into silence. I turn on the radio, and we stay quiet until he tells me to take a sharp left onto Larapinta Drive.

"What's with the guitar back there?" I ask, changing the topic of conversation to something less painful.

"When I'm in Yuendumu, I sometimes teach guitar to the kids at the community centre."

"That's great. I can play a little bit myself, but it's been a while. Are you a music teacher?"

"No. I just do that 'cause it gives the kids something to do instead of looking for trouble. I'm actually employed at Alice Springs Hospital. I'm one of the Aboriginal Liaison Officers."

"Are you meant to be at work right now?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Not exactly. I'm technically on a day off, but I'm on call in case they need an interpreter. They called this morning when Boomer was towing me back, so I've got to go in to help one of the doctors do a medical consent. The hospital isn't too far from the crash repairers. I'll just walk to work once I've checked out how much it's going to cost to get my ute fixed."

"So what happened last night?"

"I still don't want to talk about it," he mutters, staring out of the passenger-side window.

-oo0oo-

**_23°41'58.13"S 133°52'29.18"E_**

**_Alice Paint And Panel – Ciccone –NT._**

"Take the next right and it's three-quarters of the way down on the right," Jake instructs.

I turn right and head into what looks like an industrial part of town. Once I see the repair yard, I pull up into the car park.

"Thanks for the ride," Jake says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime?"

"Yeah, maybe. It was nice meeting you."

"You, too." He gets out of the car, and I press the button on the key fob to open the back, so he can retrieve his guitar and duffle bag.

Just as I lower the window to say good-bye, a dark-skinned woman wearing shorts, a skimpy singlet top, and work boots, walks out of the workshop and comes to stand next to the rear of the car.

"Hey, Jakey. I gotta joke for you… Why did the feral camel cross the road?"

"Very funny," he says in a deadpan voice. "What's the damage to my baby? How much am I looking at?"

"Who's that?" the woman asks with a sideways nod of her head in my direction. Using the driver's side wing-mirror, she's checking out my reflection with unveiled suspicion. "Is she the kardiya girl that caused you to lose control last night?"

"Pulya-jarrimi, Leah," he says, frowning at her in annoyance before walking toward a shiny-red pick-up. The windscreen, although still in one piece, has large spider web-like cracks on the driver's side. The bonnet is crushed as if a wrecking ball just landed on it – or more likely, a feral camel.

I reprogram the GPS so I can get to the backpackers lodge. Since it seems I'm going to end up working more nights than days, I need to get in a few hours of sleep before I head back to the sanctuary and Mister Cullen.

Reversing out of the car park, I wave good-bye to Jake and then head for the main road.

-oo0oo-

_**23°42'7.48"S 133°53'14.33"E**_

_**Alice's Secret Traveller's Inn – East Side – NT.**_

Rolling out of bed, I feel exhausted. Despite my best efforts, I've only managed to get two hours of broken sleep. Although I was assured by the manager of the backpackers lodge that, 'It's not a party place,' and that the guests here are all, 'Quiet and respectful,' the all-female dorm room is located near the kitchen. Unfortunately, it's also right beside the bathroom which doesn't seem to have any sound-proofing whatsoever, so I heard everything – bodily functions and all.

Rummaging through my bag, I find a change of clothes, my toiletries, and towel so I can freshen up before going back to the sanctuary.

-oo0oo-

With no time to shop for groceries, and no desire to venture into town by myself for fast food, I'm thankful for my two roommates, the Irish backpacker sisters, Siobhan and Mary Hurley. Once they learned of my predicament, they kindly offered up some of their own food to me. The mini-picnic that is now stashed inside my backpack consists of ham and cheese sandwiches, fruit, slices of cinnamon cake, two litres of bottled water, and a thermos of tea.

Taking a seat at the outdoor dining setting, I open the large camera case and check over my equipment. While attaching the Blackmagic Cinema Camera to the Blackbird stabiliser rig, I chat with the sisters for a little while as they play a game on the oversized checkerboard on the ground of the patio. Its pieces seem to be made from various recycled plastic drink containers, and at the moment, Mary is winning because Siobhan is too distracted by the Brazilian boys, Diego and Raoul, who are roughhousing in the pool.

Mary is keen to know what I'm doing while I'm in Australia, and in turn, I learn that the sisters are staying in Alice Springs for a few more weeks as a part of their two-year-long working-holiday around the world. Hailing from Cork, they tell me they've been working part-time at the Chifley Hotel, which conveniently, is located next door to the backpackers lodge. After spending about 15 minutes getting the balance right on the stabiliser, I pack my gear away.

Before leaving to head for the sanctuary, the girls and I make plans to head into town sometime tomorrow, so they can show me around, and I can buy my own food. I also promised to take them out for a meal to repay their kind generosity.

-oo0oo-

**_23°47'6.14"S 133°53'54.90"E_**

**_The Sanctuary - Connellan - NT_**

Halfway along the approach to the red, shed-like building, I can see Mister Cullen standing next to his car, as though he is waiting for my arrival. I park and then grab for my backpack before getting out of the Nissan.

"Hi again," I say as I reach into the back of the car to fetch the camera case. "Did you get plenty of sleep?"

"Enough to get by," he replies as he walks towards me.

"You probably got more than me. If I accidently fall asleep on you tonight, just poke me." I sling my backpack over my shoulder and offer out my free hand to shake his in greeting. When I look up at him, I see an amused expression on his face, as though he's holding in a laugh. "What's so funny?" I ask, confused.

"Nothing," he says, shaking my hand and grinning. "You ready to meet the mob?"

"You mean the kangaroos?" I ask excitedly.

"Yep."

"By all means, lead the way, Mister Cullen."

He releases my hand, and once again, I have that strange sensation; it's as though I've just lost something familiar and comforting. As we start walking, I reach up to my necklace – the one Riley gave to me – and touch it to reassure myself that it's still with me.

"I reckon we should do away with the formalities, Isabella. Call me Boomer – or just Cullen if you'd prefer. If you keep calling me Mister Cullen, you'll make me feel old."

"Boomer – that's quite an unusual first name," I remark, pretending not to know it's his nickname.

"I stopped using my first name years ago. A boomer is one of the names they call a male adult kangaroo. They're sometimes called Jacks or Bucks too, but someone I used to work for gave me the name, Boomer."

"Ah ha, gotcha; so it's a nickname. What is your actual first name then?"

"Nothin' important."

"So you're really not going to tell me?" I ask, feigning surprise.

"Nope. It's a state secret." He smirks.

"Is it a girly name?"

He looks at me with an oblique glance and shakes his head. "No."

"Well, if you want, you can call me, Bella. If you pay me two dollars, I'll even give you one guess as to how I got my nickname."

He gives a short snort of a laugh and stops walking. "I see Jake's already filled you in about the tavern jackpot," he says, turning to face me. I nod and grin in response. "And yet you still had the cheek to go ahead and ask."

I shrug. "It was worth a shot. I'm determined to have a crack at that money... Mister Leslie Cullen."

"That wasn't even close, and now you owe the pot two dollars." In response, I pout, and he smiles at me in amusement. "Come this way, Bella."

We pass a structure that sort of looks like a small shipping container with a tarpaulin draped over it, and then we reach a wire fence that is about waist height against his tall frame. He unlocks a heavy gate, and after telling me to set my camera case and backpack down, he ushers me into a fenced off area that contains two smaller enclosures with a fence and gate running between them.

"Right…" he begins, "we've got to round up Sam. When I tell you to – open that gate over there. When I come through it, wait for him to follow me in, and then you'll shut us in. Just make sure you're on the other side. Understand?"

I nod in confirmation and follow Cullen to the gate that I'm to be in command of. He unlocks it and instructs me where to stand before he enters what I assume is the heart of the sanctuary itself.

From my spot, I can see one or two kangaroos looking at us. As Cullen walks along, he makes clicking sounds with his tongue and reaches down to pat each roo that approaches him on the back of the neck. He walks a few more steps, and then putting both hands to his mouth, he yells, 'C'mon,' long and loudly. A few more kangaroos turn up, but none of them appears to be the infamous alpha-male, Sam.

"C'mon," he calls again, and more kangaroos hop out from behind the acacia trees and various desert grasses and shrubs. After the third call, Cullen points out Sam in the distance, and then he walks back and approaches a medium-sized kangaroo only a few metres away from me. He crouches down until he is face to face with the marsupial. "This here is Beth. You can see by the blue-grey colour of her fur that she's a girl, whereas the males have red fur."

"You said before that the male adult kangaroos are called boomers. Do the females have a name too?"

"Yeah. They're known as flyers, does, or jills" He reaches out to stroke the kangaroo on the back of the neck before pulling something out of his pocket. He then holds his hand palm up, and the kangaroo sniffs at what he's offering. It appears to be a slice of apple. "I rescued her from her dead mum's pouch eight years ago. She was the first."

"How did the mother die?" I ask.

He sighs. "When I first came to the Northern Territory, it was to work on a cattle station. One day, after I'd been living and working there for a year, the boss and I were returning to the homestead from a long day of fixing diesel pumps in the far paddock. We came across a dead kangaroo in the middle of the track, and the boss told me that the carcass needed to be moved to the side of the road, out of the way. Since I was the passenger, I got out of the ute. From the look of it, the poor animal had died from an abscess – a condition called lumpy jaw. Just as I was about to pick up the carcass, I noticed a movement, and when I opened the pouch, this little head with big floppy ears poked out.

"I picked her up and took her back to the ute and showed the boss. He wasn't particularly impressed, and told me it should be killed because it was the most humane thing to do. He said it needed to be euthanised because there's no way it would survive on its own. I told the boss that I wouldn't kill her, and I tucked her inside my shirt, next to my skin to keep her warm. The boss was pissed at me and told me that I was an idiot and that the joey would most likely be dead by the morning anyway."

"How did you know what to do; how to take proper care of her?"

"I didn't have a clue. When we got back to the homestead, I drove for an hour and a half to the animal clinic in Alice Springs. When I got there, the clinic was closing up for the day, but I told the vet nurse it was a matter of life and death, so she let me in. When I took Beth out of my shirt though, the nurse got pissed at me. She said there was nothing she could do because they didn't treat exotic animals. She also told me that, by law, the joey should be euthanised because it couldn't survive without its mother, and it was illegal for me to look after it because I didn't have a permit to keep Australian fauna.

"Now, I'm not usually one to get into an argument with a woman, but I argued with her for a solid five minutes, because I refused to hand Beth over to be killed. Kate, the vet, finally came out to see what the problem was. After speaking with her, she told me about someone who might be willing to help me. She said that a woman called Esme Platt used to be a nurse in her younger days and was known for taking in sick and injured wildlife. Kate told me that Esme had the necessary permit to raise the joey, so I promised to take Beth to her place straight away.

"8 o'clock that night, I lobbed up on Esme's doorstep – me a complete stranger, and her, this tiny woman, a single mum who's had it hard for most of her life – but she invited me inside her home and treated me as if I was an old friend of the family. She figured if I'd driven all that way to save a little joey, then I must be one of the good guys. She checked Beth over, weighed her, and then bundled her up in an old pillow case and baby blankets and handed her back to me while she went off into the kitchen to make some roo formula."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman. Would it be possible for me to meet Esme? I'd love to film her side of the story."

"Yeah, I'm sure she'd be happy to do that. Esme's great."

"So what happened then?"

"The next thing I know, I'm feeding a joey from a baby bottle. Esme told me that as the joey was dehydrated and quite stressed, it was going to be an uphill battle in order for her to survive. She would need constant love and attention, warmth, and feeding four to five times a day, but even that wouldn't guarantee that she'd live. She said to me, 'Kangaroos are social animals. They need to be with other kangaroos or they can get so sad and lonely that they die from grief.' Esme also explained that joeys needed to be raised in a mob because they can't be released back into the wild on their own.

"I didn't want her to die, so I figured I needed to find her some companions. Esme told me that a lot of roos get killed along the highway at night between five and ten PM."

"Why is that?"

"Because there are no lights along the highway, it's really dark, so most people drive at high speed with their lights on at full-beam. The roos tend to feed in mobs by the side of the highway, but they get blinded by the light and in a panic, they scatter all over the place, sometimes right into the path of the traffic."

"So why do they feed there if it's so dangerous?"

"To lower the risk of bushfires due to motorists flicking cigarette butts out of car windows, the local council regularly mows the vegetation along the roadside. When it shoots up again, it's tender and sweet, and that's the kind of food that roos prefer to eat. After it rains, there are deep puddles there for them to drink out of, too."

In the distance, I can see Sam watching and taking tentative hops towards us, and I point him out to Cullen, who nods to let me know he's aware of his location.

"So then what happened?" I ask, urging Cullen to carry on with the story.

Oh, how I wish I had my camera on him right now, but until Sam is inside the separate enclosure, I'll have to wait patiently. Cullen is a great story-teller. His voice and his accent – I could happily listen to him read out the yellow pages, the classified ads in the paper, recipes – anything really. And he's clearly passionate about what he does – it's there in his eyes. If only I could capture those eyes on 35mm film – 16 frames per foot, instead of digital. At some point this week, I'll have to ask him to repeat the story in front of my lens.

He continues. "I drove around for most of the night, pulling over whenever I found any road-kill. Most of the kangaroos I found by the side of the road had been there for too long, picked over by the wedge tailed eagles. I picked up any carcasses I found and hauled them away from the side of the road so I could keep track of those I'd checked. At about 7am, just as I was heading back to town, I pulled over and found what looked to be a freshly hit roo. The flyer was dead, but still warm, and when I checked her pouch, I saw Sam looking up at me. I could tell he was older than the joey I'd found the night before because he was bigger and with more fur. So I picked him up and took him back to Esme's. A few nights later, I found Emily. She was the youngest, still a hairless pinkie, and her eyes were barely opened."

"So Sam then had two girlfriends?"

Cullen nods. "From then on, I helped Esme by going to her house to help feed the three joeys, and in turn, she taught me everything she knew about being a kangaroo mum. After a few months of helping her, she went on to train me in all aspects of their care so I could get the appropriate permits from the Parks and Wildlife Service to enable me to look after the joeys legally."

Cullen reaches into his pocket again, pulling out another slice of apple. Distracted by the piece of food, Beth allows Cullen to open her pouch and look inside. He grins at what he sees.

"Bella. Come here," he beckons. I step away from the gate and move forward slowly, not wanting to startle the animal. "Look. Can you see that?"

"Ohhhh. It's so tiny." Inside the pouch, there is a little pink blob, barely bigger than a jelly bean. The blob appears to be attached to a teat inside the pouch. "How old is it?"

"Not even a day old. Beth was obsessively cleaning her pouch yesterday, so I figured she might be about to give birth. Good girl," he says to the kangaroo, removing his hand from the lip of the pouch. The skin retracts, safely covering over the tiny foetus-like blob once again. "Thank you for letting us look at your new baby," he croons as he scratches the back of her neck. In response, Beth licks his face and he chuckles.

"He's getting closer," I warn, seeing that Sam is now only twenty metres away from us. I stand up slowly and head back to the gate.

"While I'm down at this level, he's not too bothered because I'm smaller than him; submissive. But as soon as I stand up…" Cullen stands to his full height, and quickly, Sam begins to hop forward. "Whenever I'm in his territory, I'm always planning my escape." On long, lanky legs, Cullen takes off at a run and heads towards some tall, scrubby bushes, and Sam, picking up speed, bounds towards him.

Nothing has prepared me for the size of Sam in real life. He's positively massive.

Standing on the other side of the bush, he rears up on his hind legs – and using his tail for balance – he stands to his full height, which is equal to that of Cullen. Like a posturing body builder, he flexes the muscles of his upper body, making himself seem even larger. I swear this animal has biceps and a six-pack chest. Then I hear it; the clicking noises that make him sound just like a time bomb from an old Looney Tunes cartoon_. _

_Tick tick tick tick tick tick._

I have so many questions I want to ask, but I'm too afraid to draw the attention of the massive, muscular marsupial.

"Sam here, is the alpha male of this mob. He doesn't like me around his harem because he thinks I want to take over as boss, so he's going to try to force me out. Now… male adult kangaroos are champion kickboxers. They have incredible power in their legs, and along with their claws, they have the potential to disembowel their opponents. I knew a guy once who got a testicle ripped off due to a well-placed roo kick, and I figure if I ever get married, I may need my testicles, so I'd rather keep them where they belong before I give them over to my future wife."

He grins cheekily, and in response I snicker.

"Sam's going to try to get me into a position so that he can give me an almighty kick, so I've always got to keep something between us – such as a tree or a bush – so that he can't do that."

Sam starts grabbing at the scrubby bush with his paws, snapping the smaller branches and dropping them to the ground. Once again, Cullen takes off, running towards another group of bushes, and Sam follows.

After playing _catch-me-if-you-can_ for a few minutes, Cullen begins to lure Sam towards the enclosure. "Be ready with that gate, Bella," he warns, puffing for breath as he dodges Sam's attempt at grabbing his arm by pushing against Sam's chest. Running past me, Cullen enters the enclosure with Sam bounding in hot pursuit. I quickly shut the gate behind them and watch as Cullen runs to the end of the enclosure. Placing a hand on top of one of the posts, he smoothly vaults his limber body over the fence and lands safely on the other side, his large work boots sending up puffs of red dust when he hits the ground. I get the feeling he's practised that particular manoeuvre quite a lot.

"Didn't get your claws into me today, old mate," he says to Sam. In response, Sam seems to let out a mean growl.

I had no idea kangaroos could make that sound. On the TV, they always seemed so cute and furry and soft. Goes to show how little I know.

Reaching down, Cullen grabs my bags and passes them to me over the fence. He then opens the gate to join me inside the sanctuary.

Feeling brave now that Sam is segregated from the rest of the mob, I approach the fence. "He's so tall when he's standing up; almost as tall as you," I remark, looking between Cullen and Sam. "How tall are you, by the way?"

"Six-foot-seven. He weighs as much as me too, I reckon."

"And how much is that; if you don't mind me asking."

"Around eighty kilos." Cullen reaches into his pocket and pulls out what appears to be a baby carrot, which he then tosses over the fence to Sam. "Here you go, you ungrateful beast. Don't say I don't give you anything."

"So what other treats are you carrying around in those shorts of yours?" I ask conversationally as I set my camera case down, open it, and begin to reassemble the camera, stabiliser rig, and matte box. He doesn't answer immediately. I look up to see him wearing that funny look on his face; as if he's holding in a laugh. "What?"

He smirks. "Nothing. Um… Hang on." He reaches into his left pocket and starts pulling out a plastic bagful of food items. "I've got apple pieces and carrots, and..." reaching into the other pocket, he pulls out another plastic bag, "…kangaroo pellets, and some Weetbix." At the sight of the food in Cullen's hands, several of the roos hop towards him. I'm quick to pick up the camera, and after one or two adjustments, I step back and start filming as he crouches down and begins to dole out the morsels of food.

"This is Collin," he says. "He was being kept in someone's home, but they had no idea of what they were doing. He was really sick with pneumonia when he arrived at Esme's house. Cullen's hand is cupped, allowing the roo, which is half the size of Sam, to nibble at the pellets he's holding. Once the animal has finished, Cullen reaches into the bag and produces a piece of apple. "This is Emily. She was the third joey I rescued. As I mentioned before, her mum was hit by a car."

Each kangaroo that turns up is given a treat, and Cullen introduces each one to me and how they came to be in the sanctuary. Their names are Paul, Jared, Rachel, Rebecca, Seth, Claire, Kim, Joshua, and Harry. Some of these kangaroos were sired by Sam with either Beth or Emily. A few of them were raised by people and deemed too tame to return to the wild. He also says there are another ten roos out in the sanctuary somewhere and he has three roos – Bree, Brady, and Samantha – at a separate Parks and Wildlife enclosure to remove them from all human contact. They are due to be released back into the wild soon.

"How many kangaroos have you raised and released then?" I ask.

"About two hundred."

"You never released Sam, Beth, or Emily. Why was that?"

"Esme and I had plans to release all three of them as a mob, when Emily, the youngest of the three, was due to be weaned at around eighteen months old. Unfortunately, Esme was out one day during a thunderstorm, and Beth must have gotten spooked. Her leg got caught up in a fence, and during the struggle, she managed to rip open the pad of her foot. That meant we had to bring her indoors and hold onto her – morning and night – in order to attend to her wound twice a day. It took months for her foot to heal properly. Even when we only had to change the dressing once every two days, the extra handling meant that she became too tame; too trusting of humans.

"During that same time, Sam, an unopposed two-year-old male, managed to get Beth and Emily pregnant. Being the over-protective alpha, he suddenly became quite aggressive towards me and Esme, and he was becoming too big to keep in her small yard. We soon realised that it was unlikely that they'd be suitable to be released. After a visit from a Parks and Wildlife official, we were told we would either have to find a wildlife sanctuary or zoo willing to take them, or they'd have to be destroyed. With Sam being so aggressive, I was worried he would end up hurting someone, so a zoo was out of the question. I couldn't risk him getting killed after working so hard to save him. So I had to come up with another solution."

Just as I'm about to ask another question, I hear a ringing phone. Cullen reaches into his top pocket and pulls out a rather beaten up looking mobile phone. It looks so old that it may as well have come out with The First Fleet. I continue filming.

"What's up, Jake?" he asks into the phone. After listening to Jake speak for a minute, his face takes on a concerned expression. "Whereabouts?" He starts emptying the remaining food from the plastic bags, and just like kids diving under a split _piñata,_ the gathered kangaroos advance and bend forward with their noses searching the ground so they can score as many treats as possible. "Okay. Yep. I'll be there soon." Hanging up the phone, he sighs.

"That sounded important," I say.

He nods. "That was Jake. He just rang me from work. A woman and her kids were taken to the hospital after a domestic, and the ambulance officers mentioned there's a joey chained up inside the house. They said it looked pretty crook."

"Are you going to rescue it?"

"Yeah."

"Then I want to come with you, so I can film it."

"That's probably not a good idea." With long strides, he starts heading towards the gate.

Without letting go of my camera and stabiliser, I reach down and quickly close the hard case and then manage to sling my backpack over my shoulder. Running to catch up, I manage to slip through the gate as soon as he opens it, and moving to stand before him, I stop him from walking through.

"But… Why not?" I ask while looking up at him in annoyance. "This is exactly the sort of thing I need to whet the appetite of the people at the BBC."

Placing his hands on my upper arms, he grips them gently and pivots me to the side as if I weigh nothing at all. "The house is in one of the Aboriginal town camps. For starters, no one there is going to give you permission to film. Secondly, you need a permit or an invitation to go into the camps, and thirdly, it's going to get dark soon. Even though the guy was taken into custody, we don't know who else might still be in the house. In some of those three-bedroom houses, you could have fifteen or more people living there if they have relatives from any of the remote communities staying with them."

He starts walking towards the red shed, and he's walking so fast, I'm finding it difficult to keep up.

"Fifteen or more? That's insane!"

He shrugs. "It is what it is. If any family turn up, the Yapa won't refuse them – even if they stay for months or years – and if someone dies in their house, the occupants all move out for a time and live in another house." Opening a glass sliding door on the rear of the shed, he reaches in and picks up a set of keys. Through the door, I can make out that it is, in fact, set up as a one room house. There is a bed, a wardrobe, a kitchen sink, and an old wood fire stove.

"Well, what about your safety?" I counter.

"Jake is going to meet me at the entrance to the camp. If you like, you can stay here while I'm gone and film the roos. They shouldn't give you any trouble. Just don't go near Sam. I should be back within an hour."

I can feel an opportunity slipping through my fingers. "What about a compromise." Cullen sighs and looks at me in impatience. "Just hear me out," I beg. "What if I stay in the car, outside the camp, while you go in with Jake? I promise I won't get out. I just want to film the first moments after the rescue. Please, let me come with you." I look up at him with what I hope is my best puppy dog eyes impression… or maybe I should aim for baby roo eyes.

With a resigned sigh, he begins to lock the sliding door. "Fine. But if you go back on your word, we're through with the contract. I mean it, Bella. I'll send you back to England just like that other idiot."

"I promise I'll do anything you tell me. Cross my heart and hope to die," I add, thrilled because I'm getting what I want.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

* * *

**Translations/ Terminology**

**Oi** (Oy) - an interjection used to get the attention of another person, or to express surprise or disapproval. Used in Australian, British, New Zealand and Southern African English.

**Starkers **– (British/ Aussie slang) – abbreviation for 'stark naked.'

**Ute **– (Aussie slang) – abbreviation for a utility. A term used originally in Australia and New Zealand to describe passenger vehicles with a cargo tray in the rear. Called pick-up trucks in the US and also the UK (I think...)

**Blackfella and whitefella** – (Aboriginal English) – These two words are used by Indigenous Australian people all over the country and are not considered racist terms. In fact, in 1985, an Aboriginal rock/ country group called 'Warumpi Band' wrote and recorded a song called 'Blackfella/Whitefella'. The song drew attention to issues of racism in Australia through lyrics that encouraged harmony and co-operation by people of all races.

**Warlpiri **– (from Wikipedia) – The Warlpiri are a group of Aboriginal Australians, many of whom speak the Warlpiri language. There are 5,000 to 6,000 Warlpiri, living mostly in a few towns and settlements scattered through their traditional land in Australia's Northern Territory, to the north and west of Alice Springs. Their largest community is at Yuendumu (_pronounced: yin-dah-moo_), and many also live at Willowra, Lajamanu, Nyirrpi, Mount Allen and smaller settlements. Many also live in Alice Springs and Tennant Creek. About 3,000 still speak the Warlpiri language.

**Yapa **– (Warlpiri) – is the word used for 'Aboriginal person' and 'person' in general, as opposed to animals or objects.

**Yapakaji** _– _(Warlpiri) – is used to refer to people of mixed descent and heritage. It is derived from the English term 'half-caste' but has none of the derogatory connotations of that term or any other terms such as full-blood, quarter-caste, quadroon, octoroon, quintroon, and mulatto. There are many who are both yapakaji and completely Warlpiri. Being Warlpiri is a matter of language and culture, not biology.

**Kaparli-pardu **– (Warlpiri) – Maternal grandmother. A kinship term used only by men in reference to their mother's mothers.

**Kardiya** _– _(Warlpiri) – is used throughout Central Australia and the Kimberley for 'whitefella', persons of European descent.

**Pulya-jarrimi** – (Warlpiri) – Stop. Be quiet.

**Bereavement terms**_ – _In central Australia, the construction _Kumanjayi_ (Warlpiri_)_ and its variants are used to replace the personal name of the deceased. People who share the same personal name or a similar-sounding name to the deceased person (including English names) will very often temporarily or permanently adopt another personal name. In some areas, families may decide that a substitute name such as '_Kumantjayi'_, '_Kwementyaye'_ (Arrernte) or '_Kunmanara'_ (Pitjantjatjara) may be used instead of a deceased person's first name for a period of time.

In one community in central Australia, white officials in the 1930's and 40's gave many of the Aboriginal babies names based on which day of the week they were born on. This caused problems later on when Aboriginal children at school were reciting the days of the week. If someone died, the word 'Kwementyaye' was used in place of a name that was unmentionable. The days of the week at school, for a time, became Monday, Kwementyaye, Wednesday, Kwementyaye, Kwementyaye, Kwementyaye, Sunday. Within a couple of years, however, all of the days of the week could be freely spoken again.

-oo0oo-

**Thank you to those of you who have reviewed. I've loved hearing your thoughts.**

**Many thanks to 'Cared' and the FicSisters at The International House Of FanFic (website) for reviewing this story on 22/4/14. Thanks once again to FicCentral for announcing the updates on Twitter.**

**Thank you to scrosby66 for being the 100th reviewer of this story. There were no balloons or prizes, but she did help me to select the Powderfinger's song over an Eskimo Joe song when I was trying to narrow down what Jake would sing and dance naked to. He was singing along to: (Baby I've got you) On My Mind – by Powderfinger. It's a classic Aussie rock song that is best played LOUD! Watch it on YouTube.**

**If you want to know how I imagined Jake to look, he looks like Steven Strait in the movie 'City Island'. He's a dead ringer for an ALO I used to work with. (ht)(tp)(:/)(/bit).ly/JakeyJBlack - take out brackets for the link to work or just check it out in Google images.**

**Until next time,**

**BoB xx**


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